•7!- 


THE 

TECHNIQUE 

OF  THE 

DRAMA 


A  STATEMENT  OF  THE  PRINCIPLES  INVOLVED  IN  THE 

VALUE  OF  DRAMATIC   MATERIAL,   IN  THE 

CONSTRUCTION  OF  PLAYS,  AND  IN 

DRAMATIC  CRITICISM 


BY 

W.  T.   PRICE 


NEW   YORK 

BRENTANO'S 

1913 


75-777,5- 


COPYRIGHT,  1893 
v  BRENTANQ'S 


PREFACE. 


To  set  forth  at  any  length  in  a  preface  the 
limitations  and  qualifications  of  mere  rule  and 
device  in  dramatic  art,  would  be  simply  to  an- 
ticipate the  constant  warnings  against  conven- 
tionalism and  academic  fixity  that  run  through 
this  book. 

The  vitality  of  the  drama  would  soon  be  ex- 
hausted if  writers  followed  rule  only  and  were 
ignorant  of  principles  or  indifferent  to  them.  It 
would  be  possible  to  describe  with  almost  mathe- 
matical exactness  how  certain  forms  of  the  drama 
are  built  up,  particularly  those  that  are  fixed  or 
extinct ;  but  it  marks  a  decadence  of  the  drama 
when  at  every  step  you  are  met  with  the  man- 
date from  the  mechanical  people — including 
prompter  and  scene- shifter — that  you  are  to  do 
this  and  are  not  to  do  that.  The  object  of  this 
book,  then,  is  not  to  give  formulas  for  the  mak- 


338413 


iv  Preface. 

ing  of  various  kinds  of  plays,  but  to  state  such 
obvious  and  accepted  principles  as  underlie  the 
drama — principles  that  are  known,  or  should  be 
known,  to  every  literary  worker,  and  that  are 
antecedent  to  the  tricks  of  the  trade.  Succinct- 
ness is  aimed  at,  but  occasionally  the  exposition 
requires  illustration. 

Such  few  books  of  technique  as  are  accessible 
in  French  and  German  seem  to  be  impracticable 
in  keeping  too  close  to  some  special  form,  while 
English  literature  is  completely  lacking  in  help- 
ful publications.  The  chief  authority  that  a  book 
of  this  kind  can  have  is  the  authority  of  principle, 
and  that  only  is  urged  for  it. 

This  book  is  addressed  not  alone  to  the  dra- 
matic author,  real  or  possible,  but  to  the  play- 
going  public  and  the  general  student  of  litera- 
ture as  well,  for  there  is  inevitably  a  responsive 
elevation  in  the  drama  when  audiences  are  critical 
enough  to  demand  high  work.  To  the  dramatic 
critic  of  the  newspaper  the  writer  (having  himself 
been  in  the  living  conflict)  proffers  the  book  as 
an  aid  in  the  ceaseless  struggle  against  evil. 

We  have  reached  the  beginning  point  of  a 


Preface.  v 

rapid  development  of  the  drama  in  America, 
and  it  is  the  hope  of  this  writer — who  lays  no 
other  store  by  it — that  the  book  will  be  helpful, 
by  way  of  suggestion  if  not  of  positive  instruc- 
tion, to  honest  and  artistic  work,  to  self-reliance 
and  an  independence  of  formula,  to  vigor  in  sen- 
timent, purity  in  morals,  and  good  taste. 

W.  T.  PRICE. 

NEW  YORK,  Nov.,  1892. 


SCHEDULE   OF   CHAPTERS. 


CHAPTER  PAG» 

I.    THE  DRAMA I 

1.  Its  Definition;  the  Dramatic  Idea. 

2.  The  Use  of  the  Drama. 

II.    THE  THREE  ELEMENTS  OF  A  DRAMA 20 

1.  The  Ethical. 

2.  The  ^Esthetic. 

3.  The  Technical. 

III.  THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  UNITY 56 

IV.  THE  DIVISION  INTO  ACTS 65 

(  i.  The  Introduction. 
The  Beginning  -J 

(2.  The  Development. 

The  Middle     3.   The  Crisis 'or  Climax. 

_.     _    ,  (  4.   The  Denouement. 
Ine  Jind  J       _..      „.  , 

(  5.   The  Catastrophe. 

V.    THE  SCENES  AND  PRINCIPLES  OF  ACTION 112 

1.  Monologues. 

2.  Dialogues. 

3.  Groups. 

4.  Masses. 
Etc. 

VI.    CHARACTER 149 

VII.    A  SUMMARY  OF  CERTAIN  LAWS  IN  ART 165 

1.  Perspicuity. 

2.  Proportion. 

3.  Variety. 

4.  Illusion. 

5.  Probability. 

6.  Contrast. 
Etc. 

vii 


viii  Contents. 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

VIII.     ADAPTATION  AND  DRAMATIZATION 178 

IX.     FORMS  OF  THE  DRAMA 191 

X.     CRITICISM  212 

XI.     How  A  DRAMA  is  BUILT   UP:    A  WORD  TO 

THE  AUTHOR 224 

XII.     THE  LITERATURE  OF  DRAMATIC  PRINCIPLE  . . .   243 


THE  TECHNIQUE  OF  THE  DRAMA. 


CHAPTER   I. 

THE   DRAMA. 

i.  DEFINITION. — A  drama  is  the  imitation 
of  a  complete  action,  adapted  to  the  sympa- 
thetic attention  of  man,  developed  in  a  succes- 
sion of  continuously  interesting  and  continuously 
related  incidents,  acted  and  expressed  by  means 
of  speech  and  the  symbols,  actualities,  and  con- 
ditions of  life. 

No  definition  in  a  paragraph,  however  com- 
prehensive in  terms,  of  what  a  drama  is,  can 
more  than  indicate  its  limitations  and  propor- 
tions. For  the  unskilled  in  particular,  large  elu- 
cidation is  necessary  to  bring  out  the  hidden 
meaning  of  the  above  descriptive  phrases.  The 
definition  as  given  concerns  itself  largely  with 
the  form  of  a  play,  including  the  general  dra- 
matic idea.  It  is  obvious  that  the  fitness  of 


2  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

material  for  the  form  must  be  governed  by  the 
requirements  of  a  drama;  and  this  definition 
affords  an  absolute  rule  of  measurement. 

The  drama  in  general  is  a  reflex  of  life.  The 
truth  of  this  is  to  be  found  in  the  literature  of 
any  people,  for  in  this  form  in  proportion  to  its 
developmeat  at  any  given  period,  more  than  in 
^ny  other  form,  are  embodied  sentiment  and 
manners.  Trie  playwright  may  treat  his  theme 
as  he  may,  with  idealism  or  realism,  and  there 
yet  remains  in  his  work  something  of  his  time. 
It  is  for  this  reason  that  dramas  are  so  perish- 
able. Changes  of  taste  and  manners  work  this 
ruin.  The  commercial  author  cares  more  for 
this  adaptability  in  his  piece  than  for  any  of 
its  other  qualities.  The  drama  deals  with  men. 
It  requires  spectators,  and  is  addressed  to  the 
eye,  the  ear,  and  the  moral  nature.  It  is  a  form 
of  literature  and  of  entertainment  into  which  all 
human  emotions  and  experience  may  be  trans- 
lated under  certain  conditions.  That  idea  only 
is  dramatic  that  can  be  put  into  shape  of  sus- 
tained action — an  action  that  is  complete  and 
organic,  with  unity  of  theme  and  purpose,  that 
invites  our  attention  at  the  outset,  arouses  an 
interest  as  it  proceeds,  and  confirms  itself  in  our 
sympathies  at  the  last,  coming  to  a  conclusion 
in  its  disposition  of  the  characters  that  accords 


The  Drama.  3 

with  our  views  of  justice.  Only  a  vital  and  logi- 
cal action  can  do  this.  An  action  is  complete 
— according  to  the  first  requirement — when 
everything  essential  to  its  sympathetic  appre- 
ciation is  contained  in  it.  There  is,  of  course, 
a  vast  knowledge  of  life,  particular  as  well  as 
general  to  any  theme  that  may  be  chosen,  that 
is  implied  in  the  action  as  possessed  by  the 
spectator,  and  this,  the  unexpressed,  is  a  material 
source  of  one's  enjoyment,  giving  play  to  our 
emotion  and  intelligence. 

As  stated  by  Aristotle,  a  complete  action  is 
one  that  has  a  beginning,  a  middle,  and  an  end ; 
or,  as  it  may  be  put,  it  contains  a  premise,  an 
argument,  and  a  conclusion.  The  premise  or 
the  beginning  is  a  fact  or  state  of  facts,  undis- 
puted, accepted;  for  the  action  must  have  a 
sure  starting-point.  No  antecedents,  at  least  in 
the  way  of  action,  are  required  to  explain  it. 

Shakspere  tells,  for  example,  in  "  Romeo 
and  Juliet "  nothing  of  the  causes  or  former  in- 
cidents of  quarrel  between  the  Montagues  and 
the  Capulets.  It  is  a  sufficient  beginning  that 
the  two  houses  are  at  deadly  enmity.  We  see 
from  this  how  the  law  of  limitation  at  once 
asserts  itself.  Every  form  of  art  has  its  boun- 
daries, and  in  this  dogma  of  a  beginning  we 
touch  the  first  sure  dramatic  ground.  In  the 


4  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

play  in  question  the  theme  is  love,  not  politics 
or  history.  The  middle  is  the  development  from 
the  premise  or  fact,  which  has  necessarily  pre- 
ceded it,  and  which  just  as  necessarily  requires 
a  deduction  or  conclusion.  The  end  leaves 
nothing  more  to  be  said  or  done.  A  result,  the 
consequence  of  what  has  preceded,  is  reached. 

The  drama  is  practical — truth  being  its  essence 
— growing  more  and  more  so  as  it  deals  with 
the  complex  relations  of  modern  society ;  conse- 
quently themes  at  this  day  are  by  preference  and 
custom  not  handled  in  verse,  and  even  the  elocu- 
tion that  attends  the  Shaksperian  dramas  is 
uttered  in  tones  and  a  rhythm  truer  to  nature 
than  in  the  times  of  Siddons  and  Kemble.  The 
^drama  is  concrete.  It  is  not  only  life,  but  the 
essence  of  it,  the  selection  and  use  of  those 
things  only  that  tend  to  illusion.  It  puts  aside 
reflection,  the  elegiac,  the  lyric,  the  merely  de- 
scriptive, except  as  they  are  briefly  incidental, 
and  translates  all  into  action.  It  holds  all  forms 
of  literature  and  all  things  of  life  in  solution,  but 
on  the  condition  of  adapted  form  and  that  they 
be  integral  with  the  action  and  the  purpose.  The 
drama  is  a  powerful  solvent  and  can  make  many 
things  "dramatic"  that  in  themselves  are  not 
so,  but  become  so  when  vital  and  in  place. 

Certain  things,  as  will  better  appear  than  in 


The  Drama.  5 

this  chapter,  must  be  dramatic.  The  theme  must  V 
be  dramatic,  else  it  will  not  admit  of  the  develop- 
ment indicated  in  the  rule.  The  heart  of  the 
dramatic  is  emotion  and  that  action  which  springs 
from  or  leads  to  a  clash  of  personal  interests 
that  by  incertitude  of  incident  proceeds  to  a 
final  result.  The  Divine  law,  social  and  politi- 
cal conditions,  are  the  higher  causes  in  this 
movement.  The  drama  is  a  conflict  always. 
The  problem  is  always  to  remove  an  obstacle. 
Dramatic  are  the  emotions  that  give  shape  to 
will  and  deed.  All  emotions,  all  events  that  in- 
volve logical  destiny  (or  in  comedy  artificial  des- 
tiny) to  the  person  or  persons  concerned,  are 
dramatic.  There  is  a  drama  in  every  throb  of 
the  human  heart.  It  requires  the  clash  of  inter- 
ests to  make  a  complete  action.  It  matters  not 
what  force  impels.  Desire  and  demand,  opposi- 
tion, resistance,  the  thrust  and  the  parry,  and  so 
through  vicissitudes  to  joy  or  grief. 

An  idea  for  practical  purposes  is  not  dramatic 
unless  it  can  be  acted  in  all  its  material  parts. 
It  may  be  in  the  nature  of  the  dramatic,  and  in 
the '  way  of  description  may  make  a  striking 
poem  like  "  Sheridan's  Ride  "  or  "  Herve  Riel." 

An  epic  poem  may  describe  great  deeds.  The 
novelist  and  the  lyric  poet  may  tell  of  emotion, 
but  in  the  drama  it  is  the  actor  alone  that  is  en- 


6  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

titled  to  speak ;  and,  even  in  the  best  technically 
written  drama,  every  device  or  subterfuge,  how- 
ever necessary,  that  shows  the  hand  or  the  mind  ^ 
of  the  author,  is  a  defect.  Description  by  an 
actor,  on  the  other  hand,  may  be  highly  dra- 
matic. An  incident  may  be  more  effectively 
acted  by  means  of  it  than  if  it  had  been  repre- 
sented, possibly  tediously,  before  us. 

The  play  is  moreover  to  be  acted  in  a  given 
time.  This  is  one  of  its  many  limitations. 
Three  hours  is  a  high  limit  of  comfort  and  con- 
venience in  a  theatre,  but  apart  from  this  prac- 
tical experience,  a  drama  expanded  beyond  this 
space  is  in  danger  of  wearying  either  by  monot- 
ony or  by  variety  and  multiplicity  of  incidents. 
Three  thousand  lines  is  given  as  the  proper 
length  of  a  play.  A  safer  estimate  is  the  time 
consumed  in  reading  the  manuscript  aloud,  with 
an  allowance  for  the  business,  the  general  affairs 
of  the  stage,  and  the  intervals  between  the  acts. 

The  dramatic  idea  must  be  susceptible  of 
division  into  proportionate  parts.  Its  beginning, 
middle,  and  end  must  have  absolute  relations.  ' 
Causes  and  effects  must  be  adequate.  A  trivial 
ending  must  not  result  from  a  serious  progres- 
sion of  incidents.  The  beginning,  the  middle, 
and  the  end  should  be  relatively  proportionate 
in  treatment. 


The  Drama.  7 

The  dramatic  idea  involves  a  general  theme, 
such  as  love,  jealousy,  ambition,  nobility  of 
nature ;  and  a  particular  theme,  such  as  the  love 
of  Romeo  and  Juliet,  and  so  on. 

It  involves  an  object,  such  as  to  show  that  v 
love  is  stronger  than  the  world  and  all  its  laws. 
To  abstract  from  a  play  other  incidental  themes 
and  objects  would  be  to  deny  it  human  sem- 
blance. Themes  are  simple  or  complex,  but 
unity  is  the  governing  rule  in  either  case. 

The  dramatic  idea  should  be  based  on  the  truth 
of  life,  and  thus  probability  is  an  essential  thing. 

The  theme  is  of  the  first  importance,  for  no  ' 
genuine  play  was  ever  written  without  the  pro- 
cess of  germination  in  the  heart  and  mind  of  a 
writer.  "  The  choice  of  subject "  is  not  a  happy 
phrase.  It  is  true  that  the  value  of  the  material 
must  be  determined ;  and  to  this  end  is  defini- 
tion herein  made  of  the  dramatic  idea.  It  is 
worth  while  to  add  that  particular  themes  are 
often  found  by  a  playwright  to  be  practically  ex- 
hausted for  his  generation.  Of  course,  general 
themes — love,  jealousy,  and  the  like — offer 
boundless  complications.  Certain  combinations 
of  condition  are  intensely  dramatic  at  certain 
social  periods,  but  as  soon  as  the  social  condi- 
tions no  longer  concern  us,  they  cease  to  be  of 
interest. 


8  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

Action  in  itself,  emotion  in  itself,  is  not  neces- 
sarily dramatic.  It  is  only  so  when  organic  with 
larger  action,  or  when  complete  in  itself.  There 
are  plays  which  are  not  dramatic,  and  yet  which 
contain  perfect  dramas  in  this  or  that  incident, 
which  may  concern  characters  that  have  little  or 
nothing  to  do  with  the  main  action.  A  case  in 
point  is  where  in  the  course  of  the  action  of  a 
pretentious  play  a  Vendean  peasant  is  slain,  and 
bewailed  by  his  wife — ten  minutes  of  real  drama 
to  three  hours  of  meandering. 

Emotion  without  cause  given  may  appear  ab- 
surd. If  we  are  not  made  to  sympathize  with 
it  and  understand  it,  we  resent  it  as  an  obtru- 
sion. In  other  words,  it  may  be  a  futile  theatre 
trick  and  not  dramatic.  Mere  movement  may 
become  a  tedious  insult  to  people  who  give  their 
money,  time,  and  attention  to  a  performance. 
Play-botchers,  the  conventional  thieves  of  the 
stage,  pilfer  climaxes  from  honest  dramas  and 
construct  pieces  that  are  not  true  plays.  Battle, 
murder,  and  sudden  death,  the  uplifted  knife 
and  the  deadly  bowl,  are  under  such  conditions 
not  tragic  or  dramatic,  but  the  figments  of  unin- 
formed trickery,  theatric  merely. 

In  its  proper  place  a  given  situation  may  have 
a  powerful  effect,  but  the  governing  principle  is 
that  it  must  be  organic. 


The  Drama.  9 

The  definition  of  a  drama  does  not  prescribe 
intensity  for  the  dramatic  idea  or  the  chief  situa- 
tion. To  do  so  would  be  to  define  a  particular 
form  of  the  drama  only.  If  you  have  the  con- 
ditions of  an  action,  the  cause,  the  effects,  and 
finality,  the  dramatic  idea  is  complete.  It  is 
true  that  certain  incidents  are  in  themselves  dra- 
matic because  the  mind  supplies  the  qualities 
just  indicated,  as  if  we  were  to  witness  the  burn- 
ing of  a  city,  but  the  effect  is  only  momentary. 
If  that  city  be  Moscow,  in  whose  flames  the 
prestige  of  Napoleon  is  destroyed,  the  interest  is 
quickened.  It  becomes  a  part  of  a  larger  drama. 
The  spectacle  of  the  assassination  of  a  man,  or 
of  the  beheading  of  a  woman,  would  give  no 
other  sensation  than  of  horror;  but  when  we 
know  with  all  material  circumstance  that  the 
one  is  Marat  and  the  other  Marie  Antoinette, 
we  feel  at  once  the  force  of  the  dramatic  idea — 
an  idea  that  may  be  developed  with  curiosity, 
interest,  suspense,  and  emotion;  but  we  need 
not  go  so  far  afield  for  illustration,  inasmuch  as 
the  ordinary  tragedies  and  happenings  of  life 
interest  us  and  are  dramatic  in  proportion  to  our 
personal  knowledge  of  the  facts  and  the  people 
involved.  Even  then  the  story  or  the  plot  must 
excite  natural  sympathy. 

The  (iramatic  idea,  then,  cannot  exist  apart  in 


io  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

the  mind,  and  with  all  the  more  reason  cannot 
stand  unsupported  on  the  stage,  consisting  of  a 
single  act  or  doing. 

The  dramatic  idea  involves  incidents,  and 
these  incidents  lie  about  it  in  greater  or  less  pro- 
fusion. Emotion  is  full  of  action ;  and  the  idea 
is  dramatic  in  proportion  to  the  emotion  it  ex- 
cites in  the  spectator  of  the  scene  compounded  of 
it.  It  is  so  in  real  life.  A  dramatic  happening 
unfolds  itself  from  these  emotions  step  by  step, 
link  by  link. 

We  must  have  an  origin  for  each  incident,  and 
an  expectation  of  results.  It  does  not  need  to 
conceive  mortal  peril  or  death  in  order  to  be 
dramatic.  The  dramatic  principle  includes 
human  action.  These  incidents  may  be  so 
highly  charged  with  the  dramatic  that  they  may 
be  almost  perfect  in  themselves,  but  in  the  true 
drama  it  is  the  entirety  alone  that  is  "  a  com- 
plete action/*  The  drama  itself  is  not  complete 
1  until  it  is  acted,  and  its  possibilities  have  been 
expressed  in  action,  utterance,  look,  tone,  and 
gesture. 

A  complete  action  is  in  itself  a  definition  of 
unity,  one  of  the  essentials. 

So  organic  is  the  dramatic  idea,  that  any  of 
its  parts,  a  subordinate  incident  even,  may  be- 
come in  the  mind  of  the  poet  the  germ  of  the 


The  Drama.  it 

play.  Schiller  reads  a  paragraph  of  a  few  lines 
in  a  paper,  telling  of  the  suicide  of  two  lovers 
of  unequal  birth;  and  from  that  springs  his 
"  Cabale  und  Liebe." 

Sardou  sees  a  piece  of  paper  blown  out  of  a 
window,  and  that  is  the  beginning  of  his  wonder- 
fully written  "  Pattes  de  Mouches."  The  dra- 
matic idea  may  be  weighed  in  advance  of  its 
treatment  by  the  incidents  it  suggests.  Does  it 
admit  of  handling  like  a  case  at  law,  where  all 
but  particular  evidence  is  excluded  ?  A  trial^  is 
a  drama  if  it  reaches  a  conclusion,  acquittal,  or 
conviction,  with  an  element  the  while  of  uncer- 
tainty as  to  result.  It  is  this  uncertainty,  this 
suspense,  as  it  is  technically  called,  that  is  im- 
plied in  the  "  sympathetic  attention "  of  the 
definition  of  the  drama  already  given. 

By  way  of  familiar  illustration,  it  may  be  said 
that  a  perfect  anecdote  possesses  many  of  the 
essential  features  of  a  drama.  It  is  always  a 
complete  action.  The  local  anecdote,  in  particu- 
lar, admits  of  great  detail  in  the  telling.  The 
persons  concerned  in  it  are  known,  as  are  their 
relations  to  each  other.  It  has  a  beginning,  an 
introduction,  a  climax,  and  a  conclusion,  and  that 
conclusion  leaves  nothing  more  to  be  said  or 
done.  The  more  conclusive,  the  more  the 
village  will  roar  its  applause.  The  adaptability 


12  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

of  the  anecdote  to  practical  stage  use  explains 
the  prosperity  of  the  American  farce- comedies. 
A  farce-comedy  is  little  more  than  a  succession 
of  acted  anecdotes. 

Progressive  action  is  a  true  mark  of  the  dra- 
matic product,  and  if  there  is  not  a  propelling 
force  in  the  incidents  that  lie  about  a  theme  it 
is  not  dramatic.  Progression  toward  an  end  is 
essential. 

The  material  of  the  drama  lies  about  us  and 
is  common  property,  often  enough  in  forms  re- 
quiring small  technical  shaping.  Actual  happen- 
ings furnish  a  large  part  of  it,  so  that  "  original- 
ity "  is  not  one  of  the  most  desired  merits  of  a 
dramatic  author.  He  may  be  accounted  original 
because  of  the  use  or  even  invention  of  some 
situation  not  before  seen  in  the  drama,  but,  after 
all,  it  is  we,  the  people,  to  whom  that  situation 
is  possible  in  real  life,  or  who  may  in  hard  fact 
have  acted  it,  that  are  the  real  authors  of  plays. 
Millions  of  men  ceaselessly  co-operate  with  the 
dramatist.  The  real  power  and  merit  of  an 
author  have  ample  scope  in  truly  telling  what 
passes  in  the  human  heart.  A  genuine  drama 
is  the  distillation  of  his  life,  fancy,  meditation, 
and  all  the  genius  of  his  being.  The  common- 
places  of  life  are  pregnant  with  drama. 

"  Originality  "  is  usually  but  another  name  for 


The  Drama.  13 

artificiality,  marking  the  point  of  departure  from 
simple  nature  and  everyday  life.  W.  S.  Gilbert 
is  original  in  the  "  Mikado  "  ;  and  in  farce,  which 
does  not  confine  itself  to  reality,  there  may 
be  any  amount  of  caprice.  The  true  drama  is 
bounded  on  all  sides  by  fact.  Life,  and  the  life 
that  he  knows,  is  the  best  material  for  any 
honest-minded  dramatist.  There  is  where  spon- 
taneity lies.  There  are  other  sources  of  the 
drama,  notably  history  and  romance,  and  from 
these  the  author  may  draw  and  be  absolutely 
original.  There  are  difficulties  in  dealing  with 
history.  A  drama  has  a  direct  growth  in  the 
mind  and  heart  of  a  writer,  and  the  less  he  is 
encumbered  with  non-essential  incidents  and 
incidentals,  the  easier  his  task.  In  historical 
material  he  may  disentangle  himself,  but  he  will 
be  met  on  the  production  of  the  piece  by  these 
same  non-essentials  existent  in  the  minds  of  the 
audience.  It  is  much  the  same  with  dramatiza- 
tions of  novels  or  incidents  suggested  by  them. 
The  difficulties  in  either  case  will  be  discussed 
in  the  technical  chapters.  The  dramatic  idea 
may  sometimes  be  stronger  than  history  itself. 

The  material  of  the  drama  may  come  from 
any  life,  but  it  is  a  sure  indication  of  a  rogue  when 
he  writes  only  foreign  plays.  It  is  these  mental 
sans-culottes,  these  adapters  and  thieves,  that 


14  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

stultify  managers  and  intercept  good,  genuine 
work.  Our  stage  and  our  literature  are  vastly 
concerned  in  this.  Let  the  managers  look  to 
home  work  with  more  faith.  The  history  of  its 
financial  success  even  in  the  present  develop- 
ment of  our  drama  is  convincing  as  to  its  value.* 
It  is  odd  how  original  work  is  mistrusted  by 
the  merchants  in  the  temple,  and  yet  nothing  is 
more  certain  than  that  each  country  reserves  its 
heartiest  welcome  for  the  home  product. 

Yet,  it  certainly  matters  not  where  a  play 
comes  from.  The  stage  is  universal,  and  the 
imprints  of  London,  Paris,  Germany,  are  indiffer- 
ent, if  we  accept  them.  But  it  does  make  a  dif- 
ference who  writes  the  plays.  A  French  play 
should  be  written  by  a  Frenchman,  an  English 
play  by  an  Englishman,  and  a  German  play  by 
a  German.  You  can't  make  anything  else  out 
of  a  native  writer  of  foreign  plays  except  a 
cheap  imitator. 

It  is  true  that  Shakspere  made  large  choice 
of  foreign  material,  but  exclusive  of  his  mastery 
and  the  ampler  treatment  allowed  by  the  tech- 
nique of  his  day,  the  propriety  of  its  use  is 

*  "  My  Partner,"  "  The  Danites,"  "  Davy  Crockett,"  "  The 
White  Slave,"  "  The  Banker's  Daughter,"  "  Shenandoah," 
"  Held  by  the  Enemy,"  "Alabama,"  etc.  ;  while  England  will 
have  nothing  that  is  not  English  by  origin  or  adaptation. 


The  Drama.  15 

entirely  sound.  His  was  the  poetic  drama.  It 
has  the  freedom  of  the  world.  He  treated  his- 
tory and  fable  where  the  essential  facts  are 
fixed,  or,  on  occasion,  of  obscure  countries  like 
Denmark  aftd  Bohemia,  as  to  which  he  could 
establish  conditions.  He  was,  moreover,  true  in 
his  vision.  At  all  events,  there  is  reason  to  be 
very,  very  suspicious  of  any  American  drama  on 
a  foreign  theme  of  current  life.  There  is  power 
and  truth  in  the  native  theme.  The  Frenchmen 
are  great  because  of  their  loyalty ;  because  they 
write  home  plays. 

Wherever  the  theme,  or,  in  other  words,  the 
dramatic  idea,  may  come  from,  it  has  certain  in- 
herent rights ;  it  first  stirs  the  heart  and  hand  of 
the  writer  to  action,  and  to  it  is  given  dominion 
and  power  over  the  technique  to  be  applied  to 
it.  It  demands  and  suggests  its  own  treatment, 
and  an  author  should  take  careful  counsel  with 
it  before  yielding  to  conventionalism,  when  the 
idea  finds  its  opposition  there. 

Technique  is  the  helper;  the  subject  is  the 
master.  The  man  with  an  idea  is  more  fortu- 
nate than  the  one  with  the  tools ;  and  yet  per- 
fection is  the  requirement  of  the  drama,  and  to 
it  the  dramatist  must  bend  his  will.  The  arti- 
ficialities of  play- writers  are  not  fixed,  but  the 
principles  are  inexorable.  Of  course  the  gen- 


1 6  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

eral  requirements  of  a  drama  as  stated  in  this 
chapter  involve  other  principles,  and  these  we 
shall  encounter  as  we  proceed. 

2.  THE  USE  OF  THE  DRAMA. — Holding 
fast  to  the  principle  that  the  drama  is  life,  we 
must  see  that  its  uses  are  noble.  There  are 
many  forms  of  the  drama,  and  some  whose 
graceless  mission  is  to  corrupt;  so  that  it  is 
the  variety  of  the  drama  that  brings  so  much 
confusion  into  all  talk  of  it.  The  value  of  the 
drama  is  not  to  be  seriously  disputed  for  a 
moment.  It  is  essential  in  many  ways  to  civil- 
ization. In  large  cities,  where  the  physical  con- 
gregation is  social  segregation,  it  takes  the  place 
to  a  certain  extent  of  the  social  and  moral  in- 
fluences that  are  active  in  the  compact  life  of 
smaller  communities. 

It  is  only  worth  while,  in  a  book  devoted  to 
the  art  of  building  plays,  to  speak  of  this  par- 
ticular matter  in  a  practical  way.  Dramatic 
literature,  with  its  English  charter  from  Shak- 
spere,  can  take  care  of  itself. 

A  pernicious  theory  is  held  by  some  man- 
agers and  writers,  that  the  purpose  of  the  drama 
is  merely  to  entertain. 

So  should  a  sermon  entertain,  and  have  art 
after  its  kind,  toa  A  drama  must  certainly 


The  Drama.  17 

entertain,  or  it  fails ;  but  it  is  a  shallow  assump- 
tion that  proclaims  that  as  its  only  function. 

Were  it  the  case,  we  should  have  every  in- 
decency exhibited,  whereas  the  drama  should 
minister  to  the  heart.  This  would  soon  outlaw 
the  art.  Were  it  the  only  function,  it  would  be 
a  miserable  life-pursuit  for  the  people  of  genius, 
of  dignity,  and  moral  grandeur  that  walk  in  the 
ranks  of  the  stage,  honored  and  worthy.  If  to 
amuse  were  all,  then  we  should  have  clowns 
only.  A  serious  and  entertaining  drama  cannot 
help  but  instruct.  It  is  a  supplement  to  our  life. 
Its  potentialities  are  not  to  be  doubted.  Its 
molding  influence  cannot  be  weighed,  but  it  ex- 
ists. We  know  that  it  can  affect  the  moral  and 
political  life  of  a  nation.  It  would  be  easy  to 
give  examples  without  recurring  to  the  time 
when  in  Greece  the  drama  was  national.  And, 
so,  the  drama  acts  on  individuals,  and  results  are 
hidden  in  the  multitude  of  hearts.  The  slight- 
est examination  into  the  principles  of  the  drama 
proves  that  no  successful  and  well-constructed 
drama  can  preach  and  teach  at  the  public.  It 
is  not  its  way  of  handling  the  material,  but  the 
sermon  and  the  lesson  will  be  there  just  as  truly. 

Moreover,  people  are  not  entertained  by  prov- 
ocation of  laughter  alone.  It  is  a  catch-word 
with  the  commercial  manager,  that  "  people  go 


1 8  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

to  the  theatre  to  laugh. "  If  this  were  true, 
every  definition  of  the  dramatic  idea  is  at  fault. 
In  point  of  fact  a  play  is  directed  at  the  emo- 
tions of  people,  and  laughter  is  but  one  of  the 
many.  Another  catch- word  in  the  same  relation 
is  that  "  people  don't  want  to  think/'  This 
statement  proceeds  from  small  knowledge  of  the 
dramatic  process  of  construction.  A  good  play 
— "Richard  III.,"  or  what-not — is  plain  sailing 
for  the  lads  in  the  gallery,  and  is  without  dis- 
tressful mental  operation  for  anybody. 

Of  all  the  arts  the  drama  comes  closest  to 
man.  It  dwells  with  him.  It  does  not  deal 
mainly  with  the  gods,  as  mute  statuary  does, 
and  is  not  sightless  and  impalpable,  like  music. 
It  does  not  halt  at  the  single  moment,  as  paint- 
ing does.  It  embraces  all  the  arts,  and  gives 
life  and  voice  and  form  and  functions  to  them 
all.  No  other  art  uses  such  a  multiplicity  of 
forces. 

Imagine  the  cost  of  some  single,  great  dra- 
matic production,  and  what  in  the  end  it  brings 
to  author,  actor,  and  manager. 

Let  us  say  tjiat  it  earns  a  quarter  of  a  million 
dollars ;  and  men  everywhere  that  have  beheld 
it  carry  with  them  memories  for  life,  for  they 
have  seen  something  done  by  men,  not  marble, 
and  have  beheld  pictures  painted  by  passion  and 


The  Drama.  19 

life,  not  by  pigments.  Their  experiences  have 
been  enlarged,  for  man  is  made  of  dreams. 
Perspectives  have  been  opened  up  that  are  new 
to  some  minds,  and  to  them,  otherwise,  impos- 
sible. It  teaches  wisdom  to  men  that  never  open 
a  book.  It  gives  the  essence  of  life,  and  in  three 
hours  it  speaks  volumes.  It  warns  and  coun- 
sels, teaches  justice  and  keeps  alive  pity.  It 
celebrates  man's  liberty  and  his  struggles,  and 
all  that  is  noble  wanders  into  it.  It  enlists  the 
sympathies  to  such  an  extent  that  the  listener  is 
his  own  poet.  It  analyzes  all  motives,  with- 
holding nothing,  lays  bare  everything.  It  is  in 
fact  the  plainest,  the  most  direct  of  all  forms 
of  teaching.  It  does  not  formulate  morals  in 
words,  but  in  deeds;  and  if  life,  which  is  the 
drama,  is  not  a  constant  mentor,  unheeded  also 
in  its  teachings,  what  is  it  ? 


CHAPTER  II. 

THE   THREE   ELEMENTS   OF   A   DRAMA. 

WE  are  still  considering  the  dramatic  idea — 
the  theme.  The  poet  must  determine  in  ad- 
vance of  putting  his  hand  to  it  what  its  qualities 
are.  Is  it  worth  his  while  to  put  it  into  form? 
It  is  a  matter  of  labor,  and  he  must  look  to  re- 
sults. There  are  three  elements  in  the  dramatic 
idea :  the  ethical,  the  aesthetic,  and  the  techni- 
cal; and  deficiency  in  any  one  of  them  may, 
make  the  entire  material  inapt. 

i.  THE  ETHICAL. — The  theme,  with  its  facts; 
and  what  is  proved  in  the  conclusion  of  the; 
drama,  must  accord  with  the  moral  views  of  the; 
time  in  which  the  drama  is  produced.  In  the: 
lighter  forms  of  comedy  there  is  no  ethical  pur- 
pose, although  the  play  may  be  even  more  in- 
iquitous than  if  it  had  a  bad  purpose,  or,  on  the 
other  hand,  more  effective  than  if  the  problem 
were  openly  set.  Every  play  leaves  an  impres- 
sion, and  that  impression  must  be  taken  as  its 
object.  In  the  serious  drama  it  is  impossible  to 

20 


The  Tlwee  Elements  of  a  Drama.         21 

avoid  the  issue  of  morals,  and  in  many  modern 
pieces  a  social  question  is  avowedly  discussed. 
Dumas  in  "  Denise "  *  seeks  to  establish  the 
proposition  that  a  girl  who  becomes  a  mother 
out  of  wedlock  may  be  entirely  innocent. 
Whatever  may  be  said  in  behalf  of  this  child  of 
misfortune,  her  case  is  not  for  the  drama  under 
our  social  code.  There  is  an  object  in  e very- 
drama.  That  object  is  the  one  distinct  thing  in 
the  poet's  mind  and  heart  from  the  beginning, 
long  before  he  passes  through  the  incertitudes 
of  the  technical  handling  and  reaches  the 
heart  of  the  drama,  so  that  it  assuredly  must 
be  absolutely  distinct  when  he  has  completed 
his  work.  An  immoral  incident  in  a  play  may 
pass  without  resistance,  but  an  immoral  object 
is  fatal.  This  fundamental  rule  is  plain  enough, 
but  great  treasure  is  lavished  on  plays  of  the 
kind  that  inevitably  fail,  and  the  genius  of  actors 
is  thrown  away  on  them.  The  authority  of  some 
author  who  is  technically  great  is  often  the  mis- 

*  The  plays  cited  in  this  book  are  used  only  by  way  of  illus- 
tration, and  not  necessarily  because  of  merit.  Care  has  been 
taken  to  refer  to  familiar  plays,  or  to  such  as  are  accessible, 
particularly  in  French's  edition  of  "The  Standard  Drama," 
or  in  other  printed  form.  The  play  that  serves  for  illustration 
is  immaterial.  The  very  latest  play  will  reveal  to  you  no  new 
principles,  however  well  it  may  serve  to  illustrate  the  same 
principles  that  are  common  to  the  drama  of  all  time  and  all 
lands. 


22  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

leading  factor.  We  have  also  to  reckon  with 
the  fatuous  daring  of  some  actor  whose  judg- 
ment has  gone  astray  on  artificialities.  It  is 
because  of  the  fact  that  the  public  encounters 
these  plays,  in  spite  of  plain,  common  sense,  that 
a  discussion  is  here  demanded  in  a  book  of 
technique. 

Let  us  consider  "Renee  de  Moray/*  as  is 
entitled  one  of  the  versions  of  "  Martyr,"  by 
D'Ennery.  It  goes  beyond  the  limit  of  all 
forbearance.  It  is  immoral,  repulsive — and, 
naturally,  illogical.  The  piece  has  succumbed 
to  the  scorn  of  every  English-speaking  public. 
It  failed  in  London.  It  may  have  had  a  meas- 
ure of  success  in  Paris,  where  a  certain  social 
theory  holds  that  one's  grandmother  may  bear 
an  illegitimate  child  with  disgrace  dependent 
only  on 'the  fact  becoming  known.  The  impli- 
cation is  that  such  occurrences  are  not  uncom- 
mon, and  that  there  is  a  romantic  piquancy  about 
the  intrigue.  When  such  a  history  is  transferred 
to  the  English  stage,  there  is  a  monstrous  some- 
thing in  it  that  touches  every  household  in  the 
land. 

It  is  not  a  question  of  "  morals  "  in  the  way 
of  exciting  the  imagination,  for  it  is  too  odious 
for  that.  Nor  is  it  the  mere  theme  in  itself. 
Vice,  as  depicted  on  the  stage,  becomes  danger- 


The  Three  Elements  of  a  Drama.         23 

ous  only  when  that  vice  goes  unpunished.  In 
"  Renee  "  there  is  not  the  slightest  suggestion 
of  a  reprimand.  We  all  know  "  Frou  Frou,"  in 
which  a  most  lovable  creature  of  whim  and 
fashion  endures  a  fate  that  reconciles  us  to  her 
for  her  misfortunes,  whereby  she  pays  in  full 
the  harsh  score  of  humanity.  "Camille,"  or 
"  Heart's-ease  "  as  it  is  sometimes  called,  is  of 
similar  quality,  and  no  one  can  withhold  from 
this  figure  of  fiction,  so  true  to  the  facts  of  life 
as  ideally  stated,  the  forgiveness  that  she  craves 
in  parting  with  a  world  unhappy  for  her.  We 
sympathize  with  her  in  "The  New  Magdalen." 
We  take  sides  in  "  Forget-Me-Not."  We  weep 
with  Miss  Multon,  and  in  its  prototype  "The 
Stranger"  we  confess  a  pity  for  Mrs.  Haller. 
There  is,  then,  a  wide  distinction  between  such 
plays  and  "  Mme.  Renee  de  Moray." 

This  drama  is  of  a  most  extraordinary  nature. 
There  are  Greek  plays,  plays  of  genius,  that  are' 
full  of  power  and  based  on  ideas  of  similar 
horror,  but  it  is  acknowledged  that  in  them  there 
is  an  element  of  fate  not  understood  in  any 
modern  religion  or  social  theory. 

A  drama  must  deal  with  accepted  facts  or 
definitely  prove  a  given  proposition.  It  may 
take  a  theme  that  is  open  to  discussion,  but  if  it 
fails  to  gain  the  consent  of  the  listener  to  certain 


24  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

human  actualities,  it  is  not  a  drama.  D'Ennery's 
fundamental  idea  may  be  an  accepted  thing  in 
France,  to  wit,  that  one's  grandmother  may  have 
had  an  intrigue  in  her  youth,  that  she  may 
marry  a  man — whom  she  may  or  may  not  love 
— be  distinguished  for  good  qualities,  held  in 
devotion  by  her  family,  and  be  in  every  way  a 
model  mere.  She  may  irradiate  the  room  with 
her  saintliness  when  she  is  about.  She  is  blame- 
less if  her  son,  the  ante-nuptial,  as  a  toddler  has 
escaped  her  vigilance  and  gone  off  into  space,  to 
grow  up  and  return  as  a  vigorous  blackmailer  of 
his  half-sister.  She  has  only  to  express  a  tear 
and  the  son  forgives  her.  A  daughter  may  sac- 
rifice her  own  happiness,  consent  to  separation 
from  her  own  husband,  see  him  married  to  an 
adventuress,  be  parted  from  her  child,  witness 
her  husband  brutally  murder  a  man,  her  half- 
brother,  on  the  warrant  of  her  own  lie — in  short, 
disgrace  herself  and  everybody  else — to  what 
purpose?  In  the  end  she  explains  to  every- 
body, including,  at  the  outset  of  the  denoue- 
ment, her  innocent  daughter  and  her  own 
mother.  The  good  old  man,  her  father,  con- 
siderately dies  before  her  revelation,  but  the 
incident  seems  to  be  of  small  importance  in  the 
American  versions  of  the  play,  for  no  tears  are 
shed;  only  it  may  be  assumed  that  the  old 


The  Three  Elements  of  a  Drama.         25 

admiral,  as  a  distinguished  officer,  was  followed 
to  Pere  la  Chaise  with  discreet  desolation. 

Does  the  mother  of  Renee  suffer?  Not  at 
all.  Does,  in  fact,  Renee  herself  experience  any 
particular  discomfort  in  her  " martyrdom"? 
She  retires  temporarily  with  a  dower,  rich 
enough  to  save  her  husband  from  ruin  in  the 
end,  when  she  comes  to  his  rescue  and  falls  into 
his  arms  after  he  had  procured  a  divorce  from 
the  adventuress.  Her  husband  had  committed 
bigamy  in  marrying  the  female  garlic- eater 
from  Naples,  anyway.  This  adventuress  has 
known  the  secret  all  the  while,  and  retires  with 
complacency  when  she  sees  that  the  crime  of 
the  original  sinner  is  known  to  all  the  world. 
What  nonsense,  putrid  nonsense,  it  all  is!  A 
woman,  who  is  a  grandmother,  has  the  secret 
as  to  her  illegitimate  child  protected  by  her 
daughter,  under  circumstances  of  misery,  and 
retains  the  custody  of  that  daughter's  innocent 
daughter! 

Again  we  find  an  English  play,  "  Harvest," 
wherein  the  author  takes  up  the  wrongs  of  a 
wife  and  varnishes  over  a  semi-tragedy  of  life 
with  comedy,  working  filigree  on  fustian  of  his 
own. 

It  is  not  up  to  the  common  measure  of  sym- 
pathy. A  husband  abandons  the  wife  of  his 


26  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

youth  on  a  pitiful  pretext  suggested  by  a  devil 
in  broadcloth,  backed  by  an  impertinent  law 
book,  and,  twenty  years  later,  when  both  are 
blighted  by  old  age,  he  re-marries  his  despoiled 
victim.  We  are  required  to  believe  that  a  real 
man  would  so  act  and  should  so  act,  but  we  are 
constrained  to  think  that  such  morals  and  such 
imbecility  of  will  and  heart  could  only  exist  in 
a  character  made  up  of  theatrical  moonshine. 
Pitiful  indeed  is  the  case  of  the  women  of  Eng- 
land if  cold  abandonment  and  wandering  lust 
are  within  the  scheme  of  aristocratic  life  and 
permissible  to  his  lordship.  It  is  not  sound 
morals,  and  a  play  based  on  such  motives  is  of 
no  avail.  The  upshot  of  a  serious  play  is  always- 
moral,  or  there  is  no  play,  and  the  processes  of 
action  must  be  genuine  and  not  a  trick.  The 
love  of  the  woman  is  not  a  strong  enough  anti- 
septic to  the  baseness  of  the  hero  in  the  case 
cited.  Artifice  defeats  itself.  Again  we  find 
the  resources  of  a  theatre  devoted  to  a  play, 
"The  Mousetrap,"  in  which  sympathetic  atten- 
tion is  sought  for  the  woman  that  poisons  her 
husband. 

The  drama  may  and  must  handle  incidents  of 
great  moral  delicacy,  but  the  general  purpose  is 
rtie  test  of  purity :  crime,  for  that  matter,  is  one 


The  Three  Elements  of  a  Drama.         27 

of  the  foundations  of  the  drama.  It  is  not,  for 
example,  a  question  of  morals  in  Sardou's  "  La 
Tosca,"  but  of  taste;  and  the  two  are  often 
confounded  in  criticism.  In  "  Measure  ^pr 
Measure  "  there  is  a  moment  of  wavering  virtue 
on  the  part  of  Isabella's  brother.  In  "  Cymbe- 
line,"  lachimo  comes  from  Italy  in  a  most 
repellent  character.  In  "  Fazio "  the  heroine 
confronts  peril  to  her  chastity. 

Everywhere  in  the  drama  we  meet  with  deli- 
cate situations,  but  the  test  is  always  the  pur- 
pose, or,  better  put,  the  effect  of  the  play.  More 
than  this,  there  is  an  indefinable  something  in 
the  writings  of  a  man  that  declares  his  purity  of 
heart  or  his  real  lack  of  reverence  for  virtue; 
and  so  the  satyr  peeps  out  of  much  that  Goethe 
wrote,  although  his  Gretchen  in  "  Faust "  has 
furnished  the  most  truly  moral  piece  that  our 
stage  knows. 

Moral  prejudice  may  at  times  be  false,  and 
opinions  may  change.  Moral  principle  may  like- 
wise waver,  but  the  rule  given  will  hold  in  its 
practical  bearings.  In  the  Roman  Coliseum  it 
was  sport  to  witness  men  torn  by  tigers.  We 
have  only  to  examine  the  notions  of  virtue  in 
the  old  English  comedies  of  manner  to  see  that 
a  book  of  dramatic  technique  cannot  attempt  to 


28  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

establish  moral  laws,  and  yet  the  rule  holds,  for 
every  man  must  write  in  the  spirit  of  his  age  in 
order  to  get  acceptance ;  and  that  age  sets  up 
its  own  principles  of  right  and  wrong. 

Reference  has  been  made  to  the  fact  that  for- 
mal teaching  and  preaching  is  impossible  in  the 
drama,  but  that  the  lesson  and  the  sermon  are, 
notwithstanding,  contained  in  the  drama.  To 
excite  discussion  and  opposition  in  the  mind 
of  the  spectator  is  against  a  fundamental  prin- 
ciple. The  poet  must  gain  the  full  consenting 
attention  of  his  audience  from  the  outset,  and 
firmly  hold  it,  or  he  can  never  establish  the  illu- 
sion that  is  the  chief  triumph  of  a  play.  If  the 
listener  cannot  dispute  your  moral  proposition, 
or  is  strong  in  his  belief  in  it,  it  remains  simply 
a  question  of  embodying  it  in  agreeable  and  dra- 
matic shape.  You  are  not  going  to  get  his 
laughter,  his  tears,  and  his  applause  by  "  elo- 
quence," argument,  and  literary  gems  distributed 
among  characters  in  a  play ;  but  if  these  charac- 
ters are  true  to  life  they  may  gain  these  tributes 
by  the  simple  processes  of  the  drama.  Truth 
and  actuality  vanish  from  a  drama  when  the  au- 
thor usurps  the  functions  of  the  persons  of  the 
play.  The  characters  become  mechanical,  the 
play  creaks  with  clumsy  structure.  A  play  has 
such  peculiar  coherency  that  the  moral  gets  ex- 


The  Three  Elements  oj  a  Drama.         29 

pression  not  only  in  the  sum  of  all  the  action — 
the  impression  left  by  it — but  in  detail  of  char- 
acter, conversation,  and  incident. 

The  law  of  contrast,  as  well  as  the  law  of  va- 
riety, requires  that  vice  be  very  often  portrayed. 
The  Bible  teaches  virtue  by  the  same  method. 
This  coincidence  happens  because  both  Bible 
and  Drama  concern  humanity  and  its  weak- 
nesses. 

Comedy  is  not  subject  to  the  severe  judg- 
ment that  is  applied  to  the  serious  forms  of  the 
drama.  Where  the  object  of  a  play  is  mere 
amusement,  the  spectator  does  not  make  its 
morals  a  personal  matter,  because,  as  a  rule,  the 
fable  is  not  supposed  to  teach  anything.  But 
the  license  of  comedy  should  not  be  permitted 
to  go  too  far,  and  to  fight  indecency  and  immo- 
rality should  be  held  as  one  of  the  most  solemn 
obligations  of  the  press. 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  and  purely  in  its  business 
aspect,  there  is  no  lasting  gain  or  popularity  in 
an  immoral  play,  however  encouraging  results 
may  be  at  its  production. 

2.  THE  ESTHETIC. — The  matter  of  taste  is 
bound  up  in  every  drama,  and  it  will  always 
have  disputed  boundaries ;  but  to  offend  taste  in 
the  theme,  or  in  any  dominant  part  of  it,  is  fatal 


jo  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

to  a  drama.  It  is  meant  to  include  in  this  divi- 
sion of  the  dramatic  essentials,  and  in  the  word 
aesthetic,  the  quality  of  entertainment.  A  play 
is  directed  to  the  eye  and  the  ear,  and  to  the  in- 
telligence and  the  heart.  It  must  entertain.  It 
can  best  do  so  when  it  is  safely  built  in  morals, 
taste,  and  technical  form.  Goethe  has  very  truly 
said  somewhere  that  some  of  the  ablest  men, 
writers  who  are  instructive  and  have  something 
to  tell,  utterly  lack  the  power  of  entertaining. 
This  element  of  entertainment  must  exist  in  a 
drama,  therefore  entertainment  is  the  object  of 
play-writing.  "Acceptability  "  more  nearly  ex- 
presses this  element  than  either  "the  aesthetic" 
or  "  the  quality  of  entertainment."  Thus  we  do 
not  accept  Tolstoi's  "  Kreutzer  Sonata,"  because 
it  offends  the  joys  and  tender  relations  of  life. 
It  is  a  powerful  story,  yet  soon  or  late,  during 
or  after  examining  it,  we  reject  it.  Its  intent  is 
certainly  not  immoral ;  on  the  contrary,  deeply 
religious ;  and  the  interest  is  morbid  rather  than 
entertaining. 

It  is  not  absolutely  needful,  in  order  to  enter- 
tain, that  a  play  should  excite  laughter,  even  in 
passages.  The  subject  may  not  admit  of  it,  and 
many  great  and  absorbing  plays  have  not  a  jot 
of  humor  in  them. 

Laughter  is  only  one  form  of  acceptability. 


The  Three  Elements  of  a  Drama.         31 

The  distinction  between  pleasure  or  delight  in 
a  thing  and  laughter  is  very  plainly  set  forth  in 
Sir  Philip  Sidney's  treatise,  "An  Apology  for 
Poetry,"  known  also  as  "The  Defense  of  Po- 
esy." "We  delight  in  good  chances,  we  laugh 
at  mischances." 

All  that  sustains  interest  and  excites  emotion 
brings  the  action  within  the  rule.  It  is  a  miser- 
able device,  when  used  merely  as  a  device,  to 
have  scenes  at  intervals  for  the  stock  comedian. 
We  shall  see  that  variety  is  a  rule,  and  we  may 
be  sure  that  an  intelligent  author  will  find  what 
humor  for  the  purpose  lies  in  the  material  he 
handles.  Dryden  attempted  to  write  a  play  on 
the  principle  of  tempering  a  complete  tragedy 
with  a  complete  comedy,  and  failed. 

Taste  may  be  offended  by  the  offense  of 
morals  in  the  manner  already  pointed  out.  On 
the  other  hand,  a  play  may  be  absolutely  cor- 
rect in  that  particular,  and  yet  its  theme  be 
monstrous.  The  spectacle  of  a  murderer  besieg- 
ing the  heart  of  his  victim's  daughter  is  surely 
not  pleasing,  and  yet  the  subject  is  not  unknown. 

Possibly  a  theory  may  exist  that  the  public 
must  take  care  of  itself  in  matters  of  taste,  and 
that  art  and  its  proper  limitations  are  determined 
only  by  the  receipts  at  the  door  of  a  theatre.  It 
may  be  urged  in  defense  of  the  lover  in  quest 


32  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

of  his  victim's  daughter,  that  the  Greek  dram- 
atists abound  in  horrors,  that  the  incest  of 
OEdipus  was  to  them  a  powerful  theme;  but 
these  fables  are  based  on  a  mythology  and  a 
system  of  life  dominated  by  fate,  all  of  which  is 
not  at  present  fully  understood.  Victor  Hugo" 
has  brought  within  the  limits  of  art  "  the  last 
day  of  a  condemned,"  and  Goethe  has  followed 
the  processes  of  emotion  that  brought  Werther 
to  self-destruction.  These  were  psychological 
studies,  pursued  by  genius  during  a  morbid 
period  of  literary  production.  In  seizing  upon 
themes  of  a  like  nature,  the  modern  dram^ 
atist  is  far  afield,  wandering  off,  like  the  Sar- 
celites  once  did,  into  "  a  land  of  devils  and 
hogs."  An  unacted  play  has  sought  production 
among  managers,  in  which  the  hero,  a  divine 
youth,  falls  in  love  with  the  daughter  of  the 
man  he  has  murdered,  and  finally  swelters  in 
his  accomplished  desire.  In  Corneille's  "  Cid  " 
there  is  something  of  the  sort.  It  is,  however, 
of  a  different  quality.  Possibly  "  Fedora"  may 
have  turned  endeavor  thitherward.  The  vari- 
ance between  Sardou's  play  and  these  products' 
is  essentially  wide.  There  is  no  domestic  life  in 
"  Fedora,"  no  fond  father,  no  babbling  uncle 
with  his  heart  a-flutter  with  goodness,  no  prat- 
tling children,  no  home  desecrated. 


The  Tbree  Elements  of  a  Drama.        33 

"  Fedora "  is  the  true  growth  out  of  condi- 
tions that  lead  to  passion  and  to  crime — both 
unrestrained,  both  in  a  manner  justified — and 
for  theatrical  purposes,  entirely  so.  It  may  be 
remarked  that  we  view  certain  actions  with  tol- 
eration, even  with  great  interest,  only  because 
the  dramatis  personce  are  entirely  foreign  to  our 
own  national  life. 

To  illustrate  how  ruinously  works  an  idea,  if 
fundamental  to  the  play  and  in  bad  taste,  let  us 
take  an  example.  Thus  runs  the  story :  An 
old  gambler,  broken  in  fortune,  still  pursuing  his 
luck  at  the  gaming-tables  of  Paris,  lives  in  a 
modest  retreat  in  that  great  city.  In  an  alterca- 
tion about  a  note  that  he  holds  against  a  young 
man,  that  person,  who  passes  under  an  assumed 
name,  stabs  him  with  a  fruit  knife,  and  fatally. 
The  lover  of  the  old  man's  daughter  finds  him 
dying,  and  to  the  scrawling  accusation  written 
by  the  failing  fingers  he  adds  at  dictation  the 
name  of  the  murderer  —  the  assumed  name. 
Gwynne,  the  daughter,  swears  to  avenge  her 
father's  murder.  She  is  adopted  by  a  friend  of 
her  father,  and  is  made  co-heir  of  his  estate  with 
his  nephew.  This  nephew  is  the  murderer.  He 
attempts  to  throw  suspicion  on  the  true  lover  in 
order  to  get  him  out  of  the  way  and  marry  the 
girl.  He  urges  his  suit.  He  is  finally  exposed. 


$4  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

The  element  of  suspense  in  the  action  is  en- 
\  tirely  lacking.  Suspense — the  technical  mean- 
ing of  which  the  author  doubtless  understands 
— is  bound  up  in  our  sympathy  with  the  char- 
acters of  a  play — the  suspense  being  completed 
by  our  curiosity  as  to  the  result  of  the  action, 
step  by  step.  It  is  an  absolute  element.  Ac- 
tion is  made  up  of  opposing  forces. 

The  clash  is  felt  and  the  flash  is  evoked  only 
when  the  metal  of  the  combatants  is  of  equal 
temper.  The  villain's  advantages  and  his  re- 
sources for  evil  must  be  formidable.  We  must 
have  a  certain  respect  for  him.  He  must  have 
a  natural  motive,  one  that  may  at  least  be  un- 
derstood. Mere  mechanism  will  not  do.  As 
V  before  indicated,  suspense  begins  only  with  in- 
terest in  the  action.  At  what  point  does  inter- 
est attach  to  this  plot  ?  We  know  that  the  girl 
is  in  no  danger  of  falling  in  love  with  the  mur- 
derer. The  audience  would  not  forgive  her,  at 
any  rate.  We  can't  believe  in  the  sincerity  of 
his  love.  We  wouldn't  tolerate  it  if  we  could. 
We  are  not  beguiled. 

We  foresee  a  shame  that  must  come  over  the 
house  of  Gwynne's  benefactor  in  the  hanging 
of  his  nephew.  Much  of  the  machinery  of  the 
play  is  in  consequence  preposterous.  Unless  the 
premises  of  an  action  are  accepted,  a  drama  is 


The  Three  Elements  of  a  Drama.         35 

futile.  The  play  comes  too  close  home  to  the 
English  sense  of  domestic  life. 

It  can't  be  repeated  too  often,  that  "The 
Harvests,"  "The  Mousetraps/'  and  plays  of  the 
kind  just  mentioned,  are  not  and  cannot  be 
dramas,  it  matters  not  what  skill  is  applied  to 
them,  or  what  amount  of  money  is  spent  on 
them;  and  the  technical -faults,  as  pointed  out 
before,  are  proof  that  the  form  is  faulty  or  lifeless 
where  the  material  is  bad  to  begin  with.  It  is 
trying  to  make  a  silk  purse  out  of  a  sow's  ear. 

The  technical  part  in  the  three  plays  de- 
scribed was  good  enough,  but  what  they  set 
forth  is  not  acceptable.  It  is  not  realism.  It  is 
not  romance.  It  is  pernicious,  not  in  teaching  a 
bad  moral — for  it  has  none — but  in  the  matter 
of  taste  and  reason. 

The  conditions  of  the  drama  are  so  peculiar 
that  even  the  villain  must  be  admirable  in  his 
creation  and  give  entertainment  in  the  acting. 
Surely  Hamlet's  uncle  is  not  worse  than  that 
female  character,  the  poisoner,  in  "  The  Mouse- 
trap "  ;  Gwynne's  lover  is  not  more  reprehensi- 
ble than  Richard  III.  It  is  a  question  of  taste 
in  the  dramatist's  use  of  the  poisoners  and  mur- 
derers— those  worthies  of  the  drama. 

It  is  true  that  there  is  nothing  in  literature  so 
strongly  marked  as  the  changes  in  taste.  Charles 


36  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

Surface,  when  he  came  from  Sheridan's  hand, 
was  a  generous  and  dashing  blade,  as  appears 
from  the  recurring  type  in  other  plays  of  the 
day.  We  regard  him  now  as  a  dissolute  repro- 
bate. Othello  as  a  sooty  African  is  not  possi- 
ble with  some  audiences.  Taste  is  not  wholly  a 
matter  of  philosophic  right  or  wrong. 

Prejudice  dictates  its  terms  to  the  drama.  In 
a  practical  sense  it  is  folly  to  combat  it  unless 
you  are  in  the  right,  and  conduct  the  case  skill- 
fully, securing  toleration,  then  interest,  and 
finally  agreement  with  your  proposition.  Less- 
ing  has  done  this  in  "  Nathan  the  Wise,"  a  plea 
for  the  brotherhood  of  man  in  relation  with  the 
Jew.  In  a  play  of  these  latter  days,  on  the  con- 
trary, a  social  iniquity  bursts  on  the  startled 
hearers  at  the  end  of  the  first  act,  and  sends  the 
hero  through  his  trials  as  a  bastard.  It  is  a  fatal 
dramatic  error.  The  result  is  that  a  subordinate 
character  in  the  piece  sends  Philip,  the  illegiti- 
mate gentleman,  to  the  rear,  and  becomes  the 
real  hero.  In  another  play,  one  of  the  two  rival 
lovers,  comrades,  betrays  the  other,  represents 
to  the  girl  that  the  other,  the  favored  one,  has 
been  killed  in  war,  and  so  succeeds  in  marrying 
her.  A  child  is  born.  The  true  and  honorable 
lover  returns.  There  is  a  scene.  The  true-blue 
lover,  vanquished  by  the  baby,  departs.  The  hus- 


The  Tbree  Elements  of  a  Drama.        37 

band  goes  away  and  redeems  himself  in  battle, 
and,  somehow,  restores  himself  to  honor  and  the 
love  and  respect  of  his  wife.  Pieced  out  with 
comedy,  this  action  makes  the  play.  It  is  in 
bad  taste,  and  consequently  undramatic  from 
beginning  to  end.  We  must  always  reckon  the 
upshot  of  a  drama  and  the  effects  in  it  as  in  the 
purpose  of  the  author. 

In  the  case  of  the  bastard  as  the  principal 
character  in  a  play,  we  have  a  defiance  of 
prejudice.  The  clash  is  with  the  audience,  not 
between  the  elements  of  the  play.  Distin- 
guished historical  characters,  subjects  of  the 
drama,  have  irregularity  of  lineage,  but  the  mat- 
ter of  taste  is  not  involved.  It  is  the  wrong 
application  of  a  fact  that  damages  the  material. 
In  "  Harvest "  the  brutality  of  the  husband,  who 
defers  justice  beyond  the  day  of  youth,  outrages 
the  forbearance  of  all  true  hearts.  The  instinct 
of  the  universal  fist  is  against  him. 

The  exigencies  of  the  plot  and  the  prevailing 
abundance  of  other  features  may  reduce  dis- 
tasteful points  to  harmless  proportions.  Claude 
Melnotte  is  a  licensed  peddler  of  lies,  beginning 
his  love-suit  in  infamy  and  returning  at  the  close 
as  one  of  the  scoundrels  who  made  fortunes 
in  pillaging  Italy  under  the  Directory ;  but  the 
events  of  the  play  condone  it  all,  somehow. 


3 8  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

The  Raphaelesque  theory  that  art  is  to  con- 
cern itself  with  beauty  only,  is  not  applicable 
to  the  whole  wide  domain  of  the  drama.  The 
idealist  has  his  share  only  as  a  creator  of  plays. 
The  theme  should,  of  course,  be  worthy  of  at- 
tention. The  madness  of  Cora  in  "Article  47  " 
is  in  no  wise  a  beautiful  spectacle,  but  the  emo- 
tion is  touched  and  refined  rather  than  offended. 
The  scene  of  a  woman  dying  in  a  paroxysm  of 
poisoning  is  not  an  aesthetic  thing,  nor  is  the  play 
of  "  The  Sphinx/'  in  which  it  occurs,  of  durable 
popularity,  but  it  is  within  the  field  of  art. 

The  Greek  canon  would  never  permit  the 
scenes  of  death  that  are  so  common  on  our 
stage.  We  accept  the  portrayal  of  life  without 
abating  any  of  its  tragedy ;  good  taste  drawing 
the  line  beween  the  truly  dramatic  and  the 
merely  theatric  and  realistic ;  the  heart  respond- 
ing to  the  one,  the  mind  despising  the  other.  . 

Art  is  to  produce  effects,  and  the  art  applied 
to  a  bad  purpose  may  be  as  precise  and  power- 
ful as  that  applied  to  a  good ;  but,  on  the  whole, 
good  acting  can  never  redeem  bad  taste. 

It  is  not  within  the  design  of  this  book  to 
treat  of  the  philosophy  of  taste.  Volumes  on 
aesthetics  exist  in  abundance,  but  taste  is  of 
little  practical  use  to  a  writer  if  he  must  get  it 
at  second-hand.  There  has  been  a  great  pother 


The  Three  Elements  of  a  Drama.        39 

made  since  Aristotle  concerning  the  nature  of 
terror,  horror,  and  pity,  and  their  relations  to 
tragedy,  and  to  these  erudite  discussions  refer- 
ence is  hereby  made. 

The  matter  of  taste  is  very  important,  and  an 
author  should  charge  himself  with  observing  it. 
When  pursued  to  every  detail  the  effect  has  a 
peculiar  charm.  In  its  fineness  it  marks  the 
touch  of  the  dramatist.  No  writer  anywhere 
excels  Bronson  Howard  in  this  delicacy,  and  it 
is  the  charm  of  all  classic  pieces. 

The  aesthetic  part  of  a  play  may  be  its  sus- 
taining charm.  Verse  has  a  power  to  carry  pas- 
sages that  would  be  very  tedious  in  prose,  just 
as  in  opera  all  action  halts  until  the  song  ex- 
hausts emotion.  The  eye  may  likewise  be  en- 
tertained while  the  mind  has  small  share  in  the 
spectacle,  as  in  the  ballet,  which  is  almost  exclu- 
sively an  aesthetic  thing.  The  ballet  aided  by 
pantomime  may  be  a  drama,  but  the  true  drama  ;  < 
is  alone  that  of  the  emotions  as  called  forth  by  ( 
action,  the  drama  that  leaves  an  impression  of 
some  worthy  thing  done  before  us — something 
for  reflection,  and  not  the  stuff  of  a  moment's 
fancy. 

3.  THE  TECHNICAL. — The  technique  of  the 
drama — the  science  and  art  of  giving  form  to 


4O  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

the  dramatic  material  for  representation  on  the 
stage — does  not  deal  with  abstract  things  like 
mathematics,  and,  consequently,  is  not  fixed  like 
mathematics.  Certain  of  its  general  laws  are 
as  steadfast  as  nature,  others  are  matters  of  con- 
venience and  of  experience  as  to  the  best  results 
in  the  use  of  the  existent  machinery  of  the 
stage.  The  stage  itself  is  not  what  it  was  in  the 
days  of  Aristotle,  and  yet  he  has  laid  down  prin- 
ciples that  hold  after  a  lapse  of  two  thousand 
years. 

That  part  of  the  technique  of  the  Greek 
drama  that  was  forced  by  imagined  or  real  ne- 
cessities can  have  no  bearing  on  modern  craft. 
The  Greeks  gave  the  performance  in  a  vast  au- 
ditorium in  the  presence  of  a  collection  of  peo- 
ple that  would  outnumber  the  aggregate  of 
the  audiences  on  any  single  night  in  any  of  the 
great  cities  of  this  century.  Facial  expression 
was  impossible  beneath  the  mask.  The  voice 
was  enlarged  by  artificial  means,  the  height 
increased  by  the  sock  and  buskin.  The  chorus 
was  a  necessity  to  interpret  emotion.  The  char- 
acters were  limited.  The  center  gate  was  re- 
served for  the  entrance  of  certain  personages. 
The  recitatives,  the  fixed  law  that  death  should 
take  place  behind  the  scenes,  the  absence  of 
a  curtain  to  mark  the  periods,  and  of  any 


The  Three  Elements  of  a  Drama.         41 

variety  of  movable  scenery  to  illustrate ;  these 
and  various  necessities,  growing  the  one  out  of 
the  other,  established  for  that  stage  technical 
laws  of  its  own.  It  is  sufficient  to  note  the  facts 
without  setting  forth  in  this  place  a  study  of 
effete  things.  While  morals  and  aeshetics  are 
variable  quantities,  the  means  of  representation 
are  more  changeable  still;  but  all  the  while 
there  is  an  advance  in  this  particular,  and  large 
freedom  of  treatment  is  at  hand. 

The  French  with  a  hard  technique  of  their 
own  had  a  brilliant  period  with  Racine,  Cor- 
neille,  and  their  school.  The  Greeks  were  imi- 
tated, although  the  form  of  the  French  stage  and 
theatre  was  modern ;  and  the  law  of  the  unities 
was  drawn  into  tense  artificiality.  It  required  the 
genius  of  Victor  Hugo  and  his  associates  to  dis- 
enthrall that  stage.  The  poetical  age  of  Shak- 
spere  made  blank  verse  a  requirement.  This 
practical  century  demands  prose.  Forms  of  life 
alter,  the  forms  of  the  stage  must  vary.  Gov- 
ernments change,  the  world  is  always  in  unrest ; 
and  so  the  large  and  the  small  elements  of  tech- 
nique are  touched.  The  size  of  a  theatre  or  the 
fancy  of  a  manager  may  create  a  special  tech- 
nical law.  One  may  confine  the  scenery  to 
boxed  interiors,  another  may  forbid  the  use  of 
firearms  in  a  play ;  and  so  nature  and  human 


4^  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

action  may  be  robbed  of  their  rights.  But  with 
the  utmost  freedom  there  is  limitation  always, 
and  within  these  limitations  genius  may  find  its 
fullest  expression.  In  fact,  even  where  the  laws 
are  narrow  and  vicious,  genius  has  worked  with 
noble  patience,  and  furnished  the  highest  de- 
velopment of  some  technical  principle. 

Surely  the  value  of  blank  verse  has  been 
proved  by  Shakspere,  although  in  losing  the 
art  of  it  we  have  gained  in  directness  of  action.* 
Whenever  a  form  is  once  fixed,  it  has  its  day  and 
passes  into  the  hands  of  the  imitators,  with  an 
occasional  true  bit  of  work  thereafter,  and  some- 
times a  revival  of  its  spirit.  In  all  these  forms 
the  real  laws  are  the  same ;  and  one  of  the  most 
hopeful  signs  of  freedom  now  is  that  the  drama 
is  no  longer  confined  to  one  or  two  forms.  An 
account  of  this  emancipation  would  be  a  curious 
chapter  in  the  history  of  civilization.  Lessing 
had  in  behalf  of  Germany  a  hand-to-hand  fight 
with  French  methods,  and  won.  We  have  been 
in  danger  of  having  imposed  upon  us  by  the 
French  their  views  of  social  morality  along  with 
their  present  perfection  of  form,  and  for  that 
reason  it  is  proper  that  the  essential  part  of 

*  The  supremacy  of  Shakspere  in  general  technique  is  not 
in  question,  but  the  necessity  of  cutting  the  lines  of  his  plays 
for  present  stage  exigencies  is  referred  to. 


The  Three  Elements  of  a  Drama.         43 

morals  and  aesthetics  in  technique  should  be  set 
forth,  as  well  as  the  right  of  a  theme  to  its  own 
treatment.  With  all  this  freedom  of  the  present 
period,  accuracy  is  essential. 

The  first  step  in  technical  work  is  to  ascertain 
the  value  of  the  material.  It  determines  whether 
it  is  to  be  used  at  all.  It  determines  if  it  is  to 
be  done  in  one  act  or  more. 

It  is  apparent  at  once  that  technique  is  sub- 
ordinate to  the  moral  and  aesthetic  elements. 
The  theme  dominates  in  every  way.  Technical 
knowledge  is  impotent  if  the  knowledge  of  the 
subject  in  hand  for  treatment  or  the  spirit  for  its 
use  is  absent.  It  is  well  to  emphasize  the  fact 
that  what  is  often  called  technical  skill  is  simply 
imitativeness  and  barrenness  of  the  most  detest- 
able kind.  We  see  all  this  illustrated  in  our 
Academy  exhibitions  of  painting.  Here  is  an 
art  reducible  to  mathematical  certainties,  as,  for 
instance,  in  linear  perspective,  and  we  are  asked 
to  admire  a  man  because  he  can  draw  a  straight 
line.  The  skill  is  soAmuch  regarded  that  we 
forget  to  question  the  value  of  the  idea  on  the 
canvas. 

The  art  is  cognate  with  the  idea,  and  cannot 
be  separated  from  it  when  the  two  unite  in  per- 
fection ;  but  technique  is  a  miserable  thing  when 
it  does  not  express  worthy  ideasv 


44  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

Here,  one  artist  wastes  his  paint  on  a  field  of 
vulgar  pumpkins,  which  have  the  sole  merit  of 
suggesting  pie. 

On  the  other  hand,  a  master  like  Jervis  Mc- 
Entee  occasionally  paints  a  pumpkin  patch  with 
delicacy,  but  he  puts  those  golden  emblems  of 
plenty  in  that  dreamy  atmosphere  of  the  ripe 
year  that  he  alone  knows  how  to  establish  on 
canvas.  Amid  this  multitude  of  painted  Ven- 
ices  and  outworn  subjects  done  with  skill  and  with 
authoritative  brushes,  perhaps,  we  note  the  work 
of  some  obscure  beginner,  a  simple  thing,  "  The 
Familiar  Path,"  a  lovers'  lane  in  a  quiet  country 
nook,  leading,  in  the  distance,  to  the  stile  on 
which  we  used  to  sit.  The  title  is  a  happy  one, 
like  a  whispered  word,  recalling  to  us  the  joys 
we  had  in  the  Arcadia  of  youth. 

It  is  a  true  aphorism  that  one  object  of  art  is 
to  conceal  art ;  consequently  technique  is  not 
addressed  to  the  public.  It  is  a  thing  of  the 
workshop.  That  we  should  feel  and  say  that  a 
play  is  well  done  is  in  the  nature  of  the  case ; 
but  if  it  is  not  well  done  the  public  has  no  fur- 
ther concern  with  it.  The  work  simply  fails. 
Technique,  then,  is  a  matter  of  course,  however 
much  the  special  observer  may  analyze  and 
admire  it.  In  some  forms  of  art  it  may  be  a 
material  part  of  the  pleasure  afforded,  but  in  the 


The  Three  Elements  of  a  Drama.         45 

drama  the  illusion  and  the  emotions  are  far,  far 
more  important.  It  is  thus  that  in  fact  we  forget 
the  author  in  the  actor  and  the  play,  and  often 
the  poor  wretch's  name  is  dropped  from  the  bill. 
Just  as  all  forms  of  the  drama — the  farce,  the 
opera,  the  burlesque,  the  tragedy,  and  so  on — 
have  some  distinct  technical  laws  of  their  own, 
the  themes  out  of  which  they  grow  have  natural 
rights.  So  powerful  is  the  dramatic  idea  in  this 
respect,  that  instinct  supplies  the  rules  with  such 
natural  artists  as  Oliver  Goldsmith.  It  is  this 
inherent  suggestiveness  of  the  subject  that  makes 
perfect  dramatists  of  those  youths  whose  best 
work  is  their  firstling,  as  with  Sheridan  and 
Boucicault.  Preachers,  who  have  no  special 
knowledge  of  the  stage,  have  written  lasting 
dramas.  If  technique  alone  could  turn  out  plays, 
Boucicault  could  have  long  monopolized  the 
market.  The  English  drama  has  had  its  being 
without  a  written  code ;  although  the  common 
law  of  tradition  has  been  in  existence.  Let  it 
not  be  imagined  that  these  laws  are  not  abun- 
dant and  essential.  It  is,  on  the  contrary,  of 
great  importance  that  law  should  govern ;  but  a 
vital  thing  that  conventionalism  do  not  take  the 
place  of  that  which  creates  art.  The  argument 
of  Coquelin,  the  French  actor,  is  simply  a  jug- 
glery in  terms. 


46  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

Art  does  not  disdain  natural  emotion  at  any 
step,  and  the  gist  of  all  freedom  in  work  is  that 
a  man  should  express  his  own  thought  in  his 
own  way,  subject  to  principles.  To  do  a  thing 
in  one  way  simply  because  some  one  else  did  it 
in  that  way  is  a  pernicious  process.  Again,  this 
caution  does  not  trench  on  the  stability  and 
value  of  law.  In  acting,  beauty  will  essay  ex- 
pression in  one  way;  the  musical  voice  will 
largely  rest  on  its  notes ;  and  grace  will  follow 
the  behest  of  its  functions,  and  has  the  same 
right  to  do  so  that  pure  vigor  has.  Facial 
expression  may  be  lacking  in  one,  strength  in 
another.  By  the  like  urging  faculties  a  drama- 
tist may  proceed  with  the  assurance  that  he  is 
in  the  highway. 

Sheridan's  "  School  for  Scandal "  is  a  case  in 
point ;  and  the  following  analysis  is  not  presented 
as  a  new  study  of  the  play,  but  simply  to  state 
familiar  and  possible  criticisms,  in  order  to  show 
that  an  author  has  the  right  to  follow  his  own 
"instincts  and  do  his  work  in  his  own  way,  pro- 
vided he  does  not  depart  too  far  from  dramatic 
lines.  Sheridan  violated  conveniences  rather 
than  principles.  It  is  worth  while,  at  any  rate, 
to  suggest,  in  no  dogmatic  way,  a  comparison 
between  the  rights  of  genius  and  the  rights  of 
technique  as  they  are  involved  in  Sheridan's 


The  Three  Elements  of  a  Drama.         47 

The  characters  of  the  play  are  irregularly  de- 
fined, but  the  original  cast  made  living  figures  of 
them.  They  supplemented  the  work  of  Sheridan. 
Mrs.  Abingdon  gave  to  Lady  Teazle  in  the  scene 
of  the  quarrel  with  Sir  Peter  the  air  of  a  gentle- 
woman's raillery,  while  her  successors  permitted 
the  young  wife  to  resume  some  of  the  harsh- 
ness of  voice  and  inelegance  of  manner  that 
belonged  to  the  daughter  of  the  country  squire. 
In  particular  is  there  need  of  the  actor's  art,  to 
make  a  distinct  character  of  Joseph  Surface.  In 
the  original  draft  of  the  play  the  author  had 
confused  designs  as  to  his  use,  and  even  in  the 
matter  of  naming  him  cast  about  with  uncer- 
tainty, hesitating  between  half-a-dozen  names. 
Joseph  Surface  is  not  sincere  even  in  his  duplic- 
ity. He  has  not  sufficient  warmth  of  feeling  or 
elegance  of  manner  or  plausibility  of  talk  to 
explain  his  influence  over  Lady  Teazle,  and  the 
incidents  of  themselves  do  not  justify  her  confi- 
dence or  imprudence  in  visiting  his  room.  But 
it  is  a  curious  feature  of  the  play,  as  one  may 
discover  on  close  examination,  that  Sheridan 
labored  to  give  adequate  cause  for  action  as  it" 
arose. 

Any  objection  that  may  be  urged  against  the 
sequence  of  the  scenes  may  be  found  answered 
in  some  motive  or  line,  which,  however  obscure, 
reveals  his  purpose.  It  is  an  obvious  defect,  for 


48  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

example,  that  the  two  lovers,  Maria  and  Charles 
Surface,  are  together  in  no  scene  until  the  last ; 
but  Maria  has  said  to  her  uncle  that  she  obeys 
him  in  his  command  to  hold  no  communication 
with  the  profligate.  Sheridan's  own  explanation 
of  it  was  that  he  could  not  trust  the  two  actors 
to  whom  the  characters  were  assigned  with  an 
interview  of  the  sort.  This  vof  course  was  a 
confession  of  weakness  rather  than  a  solution. 

There  are  many  needless  inconsistencies.  Sir 
Peter  suspects  relations  between  his  wife  and 
Charles,  and  they  are  not  brought  together.  The 
opening  scenes  promise  that  Lady  Sneerwell  will 
be  a  factor  in  separating  Charles  and  Maria,  and 
yet  she  has  little  or  nothing  to  do  with  the 
action.  There  is  infinite  scandal  partaken  of  as 
at  a  feast,  but  none  of  it,  except  by  reference, 
is  used  to  bring  about  the  catastrophe,  which  is 
effected  by  the  screen.  Sir  Benjamin  Backbite 
is  a  lover  of  Maria,  but  to  no  purpose  in  the 
action.  Mrs.  Candour,  the  most  interesting  and 
skillful  gossiper  of  them  all,  is  a  perfect  figure, 
without  a  motive  in  the  play  except  to  kill  mis- 
cellaneous and  outside  reputations  by  innuendo. 

But  all  of  this  incoherency  is  overcome  by  the 
unflagging  interest  that  is  sustained  by  the  glow 
of  wit.  A  material  part  of  the  play  is  its  brill- 
iant repartee  and  a  readiness  of  wit  that  simply 


The  Three  Elements  of  a  Drama.         49 

destroy  all  mental  differences  in  the  characters 
as  to  social  position  and  general  purpose.  This 
defect,  however,  is  its  merit.  The  actors  who 
would  carry  this  play  to  its  appropriate  effects 
must  be  skilled  in  clear  enunciation  and  in  the 
expression  of  enthusiastic  banter.  This  saving 
vitality  is  a  kind  of  action  in  itself.  The  play 
will  live  because  it  is  the  ultimate  expression  of 
a  phase  of  society  that  will  exist  always,  the  hu- 
mors of  which  will  be  recognized  by  each  suc- 
ceeding generation.  It  can  never  be  supplanted 
by  any  new  play  on  the  same  theme. 

Its  wit  at  least  is  organic.  It  has  four  scenes 
that  are  perfect  in  themselves.  Lady  Teazle 
will  always  be  the  test  of  genius  in  acting, 
and  will  remain  above  ordinary  capacities.  The 
character  must  be  created  every  time  it  is  per- 
formed. If  natural  gayety  of  spirits  be  lacking 
in  the  actress,  she  will  never  command  the  cote- 
rie of  which  the  text  says  she  is  the  most  brill- 
iant member.  The  headlong,  heedless  rush  of 
the  transformed  country  girl,  endangered  as 
much  by  her  innocence  as  by  her  vicious  sur- 
roundings, requires  a  delicate  art.  The  actress 
must  escape  the  perils  that  beset  her  in  the  very 
situations  provided  by  Sheridan,  who  has  not 
furnished  her  with  the  purity  that  she  has  a 
right  to  make  a  fight  for  with  her  own  art. 


50  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

If  the  play  be  lacking  in  coherent  mechanism, 
it  is  yet  dramatic  to  a  degree  rarely  seen  in 
comedy.  It  is  a  great  and  effective  play  in  spite 
of  Sheridan's  defiance  of  simple  conventionali- 
ties. The  complex  nature  of  the  revelation  at 
the  falling  of  the  screen  is  perhaps  unsurpassed 
in  any  situation  ever  devised  in  comedy.  It  is 
true  that  character  is  lacking  in  Lady  Teazle, 
and  her  extrication,  recovery  of  herself,  and  her 
reconciliation  to  Sir  Peter  are  not  sufficiently 
founded  on  previous  incidents. 

The  technical  construction  of  "The  School 
for  Scandal  "  is  by  no  means  sacred ;  and,  some 
day,  a  bold  manager,  with  the  courage  of  com- 
mon sense,  will  lay  hands  on  it  and  remedy 
some  of  its  "  faults  " ;  and  yet,  after  it  is  done 
it  will  be  found  that  the  genius  of  Sheridan  was 
right  in  certain  details  that  to  the  modern  cus- 
toms appear  to  be  all  wrong.  Conventionalism 
as  a  substitute  for  soul  is  an  unmixed  evil ;  while 
technique  freed  from  imitation  in  the  general 
and  in  the  particular,  except  as  it  is  confirmed 
by  principles,  is  the  practical  essential  of  the 
dramatic  art. 

It  must  not  be  imagined  that  the  comments 
made  on  Sheridan's  process  of  work  in  "The 
School  for  Scandal "  is  a  defense  of  looseness 
in  structure  or  of  ignorance  of  dramatic  canons. 


The  Three  Elements  of  a  Drama.         51 

"The  Honeymoon,"  a  most  successful  acting 
play,  may  also  be  cited  as  containing  all  manner 
of  violation  of  rule,  but  it  is  an  error  to  be- 
lieve that  genius  has  no  rule.  Sheridan  knew 
what  effects  he  wished  to  produce.  The  man 
of  genius — or,  what  is  of  the  same  account,  the 
man  who  freely  grasps  his  subject,  general  and 
particular — is  conscious  of  the  exact  proportions 
required,  and  proportion  is  the  secret  of  power. 
This  fact  is  familiar  to  those  who  read  plays  sub- 
mitted to  managers.  Not  half  a  dozen  in  a 
thousand  of  them  show  the  smallest  sense  of  ad- 
justed relations.  Now  proportions  are  tested  by 
the  stage  performances,  and  here  is  where  the 
master  of  technique  can  see  a  step  further  in  ad- 
vance of  even  the  man  of  genius.  Technique  in 
this  relation  becomes  a  practical  thing,  helpful 
after  the  facts  of  the  conception  are  defined.  It 
comes  after  the  philosophy  of  the  subject  has 
been  worked  out.  Technique  alone  can  never 
write  a  great,  true,  honest  play.  Perfect  knowl- 
edge of  rule  is  not  everything,  for  D'Aubignac, 
the  best  of  the  early  writers  on  dramatic  art, 
was  a  failure  as  a  dramatist.  And  yet  it  is 
supremely  absurd  to  decry  scientific  sureness  in 
the  craft ;  as  much  so  as  to  entertain  doubt  of  a 
writer's  ability  because  he  knows  the  rules  of 
grammar  and  rhetoric.  Ignorance  is  not  neces- 


52  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

sarily  a  characteristic  of  genius.  The  art  can 
be  just  as  genuine  as  the  nature  in  a  play.  The 
principles  of  the  drama  and  the  structural  neces- 
sities of  it  should  be  entirely  familiar  to  the 
maker  of  a  drama.  Equipped  with  full  infor- 
mation, he  does  not  feel  art  as  a  burden  at  all. 
He  is  hardly  more  conscious  of  it  than  is  the 
spectator  of  his  finished  product.  One  reason 
that  the  drama  is  so  virile  and  independent  in 
France  is  that  the  art  of  the  stage  has  there  been 
discussed  with  fullness  and  without  reserve.  Its 
principles  are  appreciated  by  the  beginners,  and 
certain  conditions,  common  enough  elsewhere, 
would  be  laughed  at.  More  than  this,  theatres 
like  the  Fran£ais  maintain  those  laws  and  prove 
their  beauty  in  exacting  obedience  to  them. 
Thus  the  French,  living  in  an  atmosphere  of  the 
right  kind,  have  a  genius  for  dramatic  form  as 
the  Greeks  had  for  the  sculptured.  In  a  country 
that  inevitably  must  contribute  noble  things  to 
the  literature  of  the  stage,  as  it  will  to  other 
matters  of  the  world's  progress,  there  is  need  of 
a  thorough  understanding  of  technique.  This 
book  may  be  helpful  thereto. 

The  Frenchman  understands  the  principles 
of  dramatic  art  as  clearly  as  we  do  the  princi- 
ples of  our  political  constitution ;  the  essential 
things  of  liberty  he  may  know  very  vaguely. 


The  Three  Elements  of  a  Drama.         53 

To  knowledge  a  certain  added  practical  expe- 
rience is  profitable,  just  as  firmness  in  the  mu- 
sical scales  comes  from  enormous  application. 
Art  will  never  hurt  the  honest  writer.  It  makes 
available  all  material  of  value.  Let  a  man's 
genius  be  backed  by  it,  and  he  is  the  one  who 
has  the  mastery  over  the  human  heart  above  all 
poets ;  for  what  he  feels,  lives,  sees,  and  dreams 
comes  to  us  visibly,  and  our  eyes  flash  at  the 
spoken  sentiment,  our  hearts  beat  at  the  noble 
deed,  our  eyes  moisten  at  the  poetic  thing.  We 
see  it  all  done  in  and  for  itself,  not  the  author 
behind  it,  but  nature,  God,  if  you  will. 

In  a  poem  or  a  picture  you  may  see  the  art ; 
in  a  drama,  never ;  for  the  action  halts  wherever 
a  writer  spins  phrases. 

Legouve  says  that  dramatic  technique  is  as 
susceptible  of  improvement  as  the  art  of  mathe- 
matics. This  is  only  true  in  so  far  as  its  princi- 
ples may  be  applied  to  a  theme  that  is  grasped 
in  its  entirety  by  a  writer.  That  art  only  is  per- 
fect that  allows  a  freedom  that  saves  the  mate- 
rial from  conventionalism.  Let  us  glory  in  Sher- 
idan— not  perfect  in  technique  by  any  means — 
because  he  had  no  meeting  between  the  lovers 
in  "  The  School  for  Scandal  "  !  If  art  were  con- 
ventionalism, then  all  dramas  would  be  written 
alike.  The  writer  may  have  his  method,  as  he 


54  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

Nmay  have  his  motive.  Technique  is  in  general 
subordinate  to  the  matter,  but  not  at  all  points. 
But  this  has  been  sufficiently  indicated,  perhaps. 

There  is  certainly  a  constant  improvement  in 
the  practical  application  of  correct  principles. 
The  art  is  forcing  itself  from  old  conventional- 
isms, although  it  is  always  in  danger  of  new 
ones.  Let  us  get  at  a  few  examples.  It  was 
the  custom  of  writers  a  decade  or  so  ago  to 
bring  all  their  characters  in  a  circle  before  the 
footlights  at  the  end  of  the  last  act.  This  is  not 
false  art,  but  when  it  is  practiced  as  an  eternal 
law,  how  absurd!  Sardou  finishes  some  of  his 
pieces  with  two  characters.  Neither  practice  is 
law.  The  play  must  have  an  end, — that  is  law. 
The  classicists  had  a  rule  that  the  stage  could 
abide  no  more  than  fourteen  characters.  These 
worthies  also  thought  that  conjugal  love  was  not 
fit  for  the  stage.  Corneille  denied  to  love  any 
but  a  secondary  place,  and  said  that  it  was  im- 
possible to  represent  love  at  sight  on  the  stage, 
— surely  fatal  to  our  Romeo  and  Juliet. 

Another  absurd  restriction  was  that  no  char- 
acter should  enter  upon  a  given  scene  more 
than  once.  In  these  and  many  other  rules  the 
student  may  see  reasons  and  art;  but  he  will 
gain  the  conviction  that  principles  and  not  con- 
ventionalities are  the  factors  for  an  author  to 


The  Three  Elements  of  a  Drama.         55 

work  by.  The  truth  is,  no  art  is  practiced  to  its 
full  value  if  it  cannot  grapple  with  the  life  about 
us.  Imagine  the  drama  restricted,  as  the  early 
classicists  insisted,  to  Roman  or  remote  history 
for  its  themes — one  long  line  of  generals,  sparse 
armies,  and  changeless  togas ! 

In  point  of  fact,  there  has  been  a  confusion  of 
teaching  by  reason  of  basing  it  all  on  the  frag- 
mentary laws  of  Aristotle,  laws  that  related 
almost  entirely  to  tragedy. 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE   PRINCIPLE   OF    UNITY. 

UNITY — the  absolute  and  essential  relations 
of  all  the  parts  to  the  whole — is  a  fundamental 
rule  in  all  art.  The  object  of  art  is  to  produce 
preconceived  effects  or  results,  and  every  stroke 
of  the  workman,  be  he  painter,  sculptor,  or  dram- 
atist, will  be  impelled  by  meaning  and  pur- 
pose, and  be  correct  in  its  detail,  in  proportion 
to  his  sincerity  and  fullness  of  knowledge. 

He  is  no  artist  at  all  who  does  not  know  from 
the  beginning  what  will  come  from  his  hand. 
The  tool  must  obey  the  mind ;  and  in  the  pro- 
cess of  creation  it  uses  only  those  means  and 
those  materials  that  work  toward  an  organic 
whole.  The  poet  is  under  exactly  the  same  law 
that  is  followed  by  the  maker  of  a  steam-engine, 
which  is  designed  for  the  exercise  of  power; 
and,  surely,  that  composition  of  forces — just  like 
the  composition  of  emotions  and  actions — is 
effective  and  even  beautiful  in  proportion  to  the 
adjustment  of  all  its  parts  to  this  end.  In  archi- 
56 


The  Principle  of  Unity.  57 

tecture  this  rule  is  visibly  the  first  and  last  law ; 
for  the  full  effect  of  the  creation  is  to  be  gained 
only  when  it  is  viewed  at  a  proper  distance  to 
observe  the  relations  of  its  parts  to  its  entirety. 
The  highest  type,  the  incomparably  perfect 
unity,  is  the  human  body,  where  all  is  organic. 

There  is  no  dramatic  unity,  then,  when  the 
materials  are  incongruous.  The  familiar  line  of 
Horace  that  describes  false  work,  to  put  it  into 
idiomatic  English,  as  '*'  neither  fish  nor  fowl,"  is 
the  homeliest  common  sense,  and  sums  up  the 
principle. 

The  treatment  of  the  subject  in  the  matter  of 
unity  is  further  governed  by  the  law  of  propor- 
tion. Its  parts  may  be  congruous  but  inhar- 
monious, as  the  bad  note  in  music,  the  falsely 
painted  line,  or  even  the  blotch  of  color  in  the 
painting. 

With  unity  involving  the  whole  work,  it  is 
easy  to  perceive  that  there  must  be  danger  to  it 
at  every  step,  and  that  there  are  many  forms 
of  unity.  The  peculiar  genius  or  spirit  of  an 
author,  for  example,  furnishes  a  kind  of  unity, 
and  so  subtle,  that  incompleted  works  defy  the 
hand  that  would  bring  them  to  an  end.  A 
noted  literary  torso  of  this  kind  is  Schiller's 
drama  "Demetrius,"  that  would  have  been^one^ 
of  his  greatest  plays  had  he  finished  it.  The 


(/ 


58  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

unity  of  style  may  be  broken  by  the  mixture  of 
comedy  and  melodrama,  and  so  throughout  the 
list.  Indeed,  it  would  seem  as  if  the  founda- 
tions of  comedy  writing  were  breaking  up  in 
these  times,  when  so  little  distinction  is  made 
between  the  elements  of  comedy  and  burlesque 
or  farce.  Anachronism  may  break  the  chain. 
A  reference  to  the  affairs  of  to-day  in  a  piece 
laid  in  some  other  century,  the  characters  of 
which  would  know  nothing  of  this,  is  a  breach 
of  common  sense ;  but  a  bastard  French  play 
written  by  an  American  is  more  reprehensi- 
ble. Improbability  is  a  mighty  factor  of  failure. 
Inconsistency  of  purpose  in  the  persons;  dis- 
continuity in  the  action,  by  way  of  episode  or 
otherwise ;  the  introduction  of  disconcerting 
argument,  or  of  anything  that  is  false  to  nature 
or  repugnant  to  our  feelings,  or  that  we  cannot 
accept — all  have  to  reckon  with  unity.  Obscu- 
rity in  any  part  is  fatal. 

Where  our  sympathy  and  intelligence  do  not 
follow,  and  where,  at  the  end,  the  impression  is 
not  conclusive  after  the  will  of  the  author,  the 
unity  of  the  piece  is  at  fault.  In  other  words, 
the  technical  handling  has  not  brought  the  ma- 
terial to  the  fusion  point. 

Or  even  take  it  where  the  subject  and  not  the 
treatment  fails  with  the  audience,  where  there 


The  Principle  of  Unity.  59 

is  lack  of  agreement,  unity,  between  author  and 
spectator,  it  is  a  like  case,  for  the  drama  must 
wholly  gain  the  spectator.  This  statement  be- 
longs to  the  aesthetic  and  ethical  elements,  but 
it  is  made  here  in  order  to  suggest  the  broad- 
reaching  nature  of  unity. 

If  the  spectator  does  not  witness  a  play  in  its 
entirety  he  destroys  unity  for  himself.  And 
thus  a  critic  writing  of  a  first  production  with 
imperfect  experience  of  it  may  inflict  a  cruel 
injustice. 

Much  that  has  been  indicated  in  this  matter 
is  merely  by  way  of  suggestion,  and  awaits 
enlarged  treatment.  Nearly  all  that  has  been 
stated  is  involved  in  the  unity  of  action,  the 
most  important  of  the  traditional  three  unities 
upon  which  we  shall  now  touch. 

The  French  theorists  and  dramatists  sought 
to  establish  three  unities,  thinking  to  draw  them 
from  Aristotle's  fragmentary  Poetics:  I,  the 
unity  of  time,  which  required  everything  to  be 
done  in  the  assumed  space  of  twenty-four 
hours ;  2,  the  unity  of  place,  that  all  should 
happen  on  one  spot,  or  within  the  city  walls ; 
3,  that  all  the  incidents  should  tend  to*  one 
catastrophe.  The  attempt  to  observe  these 
three  landmarks  governed  all  the  products  of 
the  French  classic  school,  and  no  partisan  of  an 


60  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

opposed  theory  can  justly  deny  the  brilliancy 
and  power  of  some  of  the  works  of  Corneille  and 
Racine.  The  object  of  the  dogma  of  these  uni- 
ties was  to  compel  illusion,  and  illusion  is  the  life 
of  the  drama.  The  theory  was  sincere,  but  the 
arbitrary  limits  were  too  narrow.  The  unities 
of  time  and  place,  as  declared  by  the  French, 
are  controverted  by  an  analysis  of  the  Greek 
plays  themselves,  and  were  not,  in  fact,  formu- 
lated by  Aristotle.  They  were  disproved  by 
Lessing  in  his  Hamburgische  Dramaturgic;  and 
overturned  in  the  literary  revolution  in  Paris 
headed  by  Victor  Hugo.  They  were  not  ob- 
served by  Shakspere,  that  "  barbarian/'  that 
Voltaire,  the  Academic,  could  see  no  rule  in ; 
and  they  have  never  had  a  hold  in  the  English 
drama.  We  may  suspect  them  in  Ben  Jonson ; 
and  Shakspere,  no  doubt,  had  considered  and 
rejected  them. 

Finally,  these  rules,  as  an  inseparable  trinity, 
have  been  annihilated  in  a  little  treatise,  a  re- 
sume of  the  whole  subject,  written  by  Simpson. 
This  writer  goes  so  far  as  to  say  that  no  play 
was  ever  written  which  held  them  all  without 
violating  common  sense. 

It  would  serve  no  purpose  now  to  go  over 
this  discussion,  and  the  very  general  statement 
given  of  the  French  dogma  covers  the  case. 


The  Principle  of  Unity.  61 

As  to  the  matter  of  time,  not  only  in  roman- 
tic plays,  but  in  the  greater  number  of  plays, 
time  is  needed  for  things  to  happen — happen, 
that  is  it — change  of  character  or  resolution, 
based  on  circumstance,  etc.  "  Camille  "  has  all 
the  unity  desirable  for  the  theme,  and  yet  its 
acts  are  described  in  the  bill  of  the  play  as  I, 
March;  2,  April;  3,  August;  4,  October;  5, 
Winter.  Within  that  period  a  fatal  physical 
disease  develops  and  terminates.  In  "  Eustace 
Baudin,"  the  child  of  the  first  act  appears  as 
grown  in  another.  To  see  the  absurdity  of  a 
close  construction  of  unity,  recall  "A  Cele- 
brated Case/'  and  note  in  the  meeting  between 
Jean  Renaud  and  Adrienne,  advanced  to  woman- 
hood since  they  parted,  how  "  unity  of  time  " 
falls  away  in  that  other  unity  of  illusion  and  full 
sympathy.  For  a  limited  class  of  subjects  the 
French  triune  unity  is  ideally  strong  and  chaste ; 
but  it  may  be  noted  that  verse,  as  we  see  in 
the  fine  examples  of  Corneille  and  Racine,  is 
its  essential  robe.  The  limitations  of  this  form 
of  drama  press  it  into  such  barren  action  that  a 
purely  artificial  collocation  of  speech,  melodious, 
varied,  and  beautiful  in  the  elocution,  must  help 
it  out.  One  necessity  of  rule  leads  to  another 
necessity,  and  the  subjects  were  confined  to 
ancient  history,  and  these  great  geniuses  of  the 


62  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

French  drama  were  mute  about  their  own  times ; 
as  if  there  were  nothing  in  any  life  except  that 
of  the  dead  of  other  peoples  and  other  days. 

This  was  indeed  significant,  and  could  not 
last.  The  beauty  as  well  as  the  evil  of  declama- 
tion, often  empty,  had  to  go.  Life  teems  with 
drama,  and  under  the  old  rules  a  vast  deal  of  it 
could  not  be  touched.  It  was  found  that  under 
them  material  things  had  to  be  told  that  should 
be  acted;  that  probabilities  were  sacrificed, 
absurdities  introduced,  and  nature  was  twisted 
in  its  narrow  confines.  They  were  the  swad- 
dling garments  of  the  French  drama,  and  it  has 
had  undeniable  benefit  from  them.  The  French 
writer  recognizes  the  truth  that  is  in  them,  just 
as  the  American  citizen  recognizes  the  truth 
of  liberty.  There  is  no  discussion  here  about 
human  rights :  there  is  no  doubt  in  the  French 
mind  about  the  essential  value  of  all  these  rules. 
The  French  writer  may  have  thrown  over  the 
absurd  argument  of  Voltaire  that  if  an  action  of 
fourteen  days  is  represented  all  that  happens 
in  those  fourteen  days  must  be  represented.  On 
the  contrary,  drama  is  life,  and  life  is  made  up 
of  infinite  detail,  and  art  is  the  elimination  of  the 
non-essential.  Things  of  no  concern  in  any  life 
fall  into  oblivion,  and  there  is  no  regret.  The 
unity  of  action  remains  imperative.  The  scope  of 


The  Principle  of  Unity.  63 

the  action  is  controlled  by  the  focus  into  which 
it  may  be  drawn.  The  mental  and  other  habits 
of  an  audience  may  have  something  to  do  with 
this.  Shakspere's  plays,  now  abridged,  were 
acted  in  their  entirety  in  their  day. 

If  we  regard  the  intent  or  the  practical  bear- 
ing of  the  unities  of  time,  and  particularly  of 
place,  we  see  that  they  are  really  to  a  great  ex- 
tent directed  against  scenery.  In  a  day  when 
the  scenic  art  was  not  developed,  there  was  high 
reason  for  the  rules. 

And  here  comes  the  conclusive  proof  that  the 
material  is  greater  than  the  technique  in  itself — 
as  stated  in  previous  chapters — for  its  rights 
swept  away  the  universal  force  of  these  rules.  Of 
recent  years  there  has  been  a  reaction  against 
certain  evils  of  scenery,  such  as  the  too  frequent 
shifting  of  scenes.  In  some  theatres  a  "  front 
scene"  is  not  now  permitted,  but  the  subject, 
as  ever,  should  control,  and  no  arbitrary  law  is 
sound,  whether  made  by  theorist  or  stage  man- 
ager. We  are  not  practicing  under  the  Greek  or 
the  French  code,  nor  working  under  the  limita- 
tions of  the  Greek  stage,  as  we  are  not  bound 
by  its  morals,  or  social  and  religious  traditions,  or 
political  government.  Let  us  continue  to  have 
a  wholesome  respect  for  what  is  true  and  of 
value  in  the  triune  unity.  Sardou  adheres 


64  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

pretty  closely  to  the  line  of  all  three.  The  unity 
of  action,  or  circumstance,  including  purpose, 
character,  and  all  that  goes  to  gain  the  complete 
sympathy  and  intelligence  of  the  spectator, 
remains  supreme  and  inviolable.  It  is  better 
called  the  unity  of  illusion — a  term  that  em- 
braces the  three  unities. 

The  uniting  of  the  incidents,  or  the  unity  of 
action,  is  simply  the  logic  of  action.  The  test 
is :  Do  we  follow  the  action  along  the  line  of 
cause  and  effect?  do  we  accept  it?  and  does  it 
leave  an  impression  that  spans  the  whole  per- 
formance ? 


CHAPTER   IV. 

THE   DIVISION   INTO   ACTS. 

THE  object  of  the  action  of  a  play  is  to  gain 
our  intelligence,  which  is  followed  by  sympathy, 
and  this  can  be  done  only  by  a  logical  sequence 
of  events.  The  action  must  have  a  beginning, 
a  middle,  and  an  end,  and  these  three  parts  are 
the  natural  divisions  of  a  play.  The  beginning 
will  include  a  statement  of  the  cause  of  action ; 
the  middle,  the  development  of  the  action  to  a 
crisis;  the  end,  the  result  of  the  action.  We 
thus  have  premise,  argument,  and  conclusion, 
and  these  things  occur  in  an  action  that  is  brief 
enough  to  be  compassed  in  a  single  act.  Cus- 
tom has  divided  plays  of  serious  import  into 
five  acts,  but  this  is  largely  a  convenience,  and 
there  is  no  arbitrary  or  magical  force  in  the  num- 
ber. Shakspere's  plays  were  not  originally  di- 
vided into  acts.  The  Greek  plays  had  irregular 
pauses  sustained  by  the  chorus;  but  Aristotle 
makes  no  mention  of  acts.  The  division  of  this 
chapter  into  five  parts,  in  treating  of  the  corre- 
65 


<*6  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

spending  number  of  acts,  is  designed  for  the 
convenience  of  the  reader  in  referring  to  the 
many  plays  so  arranged. 

The  acts  are  parts  of  a  drama  separated  by 
an  interval.  It  is  alleged  that  the  spectator  sup- 
poses certain  things  to  pass  in  the  intervening 
time.  It  is  not  always  that  appreciable  and 
definite  events  happen,  but  the  new  act  begins 
with  an  adjustment  of  conditions  as  a  result  of 
the  preceding  act.  This  interval  is  convenient 
as  a  place  of  bestowal  for  certain  happenings 
that  are  material  and  yet  need  not  be  seen. 
The  purpose  of  action  is  illusion,  conviction,  and 
if  after  an  interval  we  are  told  that  a  certain 
thing  has  happened  that  we  know  must  or 
should  inevitably  happen,  we  believe  the  state- 
ment as  it  appears  in  the  dramatic  development. 

It  must  be  a  matter  of  course.  It  is  made  a 
part  of  the  action  by  the  imagination ;  possibly 
a  scene  of  unpleasant  nature  is  spared,  and  space 
is  saved.  For  example,  an  act  closes  with  occa- 
sion for  a  duel ;  the  beginning  of  the  following 
act  sees  the  piece  advanced  to  a  point  beyond 
that  event.  Each  act,  up  to  the  last  act,  must 
'have  a  comparative  conclusion,  and  the  last  act 
must  be  final.  Each  new  act,  as  said,  begins 
afresh,  and  usually  some  new  relation  or  other 
thing  has  been  formed  in  the  interval.  The 


The  Division  into  Acts.  67 

law,  which  is  purely  statutory  and  conventional 
— that  is  to  say,  for  convenience — is  meant  to 
provide  at  the  end  of  an  act  against  incomplete- 
ness of  the  kind  described.  Thus  the  curtain 
cannot  fall  on  a  tableau  and  rise  on  the  same 
with  its  unaltered  relations. 

It  would  not  do  to  have  the  duel,  as  a  scene, 
interrupted  by  the  end  of  the  act,  and  then  re- 
sumed, or  the  missing  part  of  it  omitted  and  de- 
scribed. While  modern  audiences,  unconscious 
of  old  rule,  do  not  make  much  pother  about 
the  lapse  of  time,  there  are  happenings  that  can- 
not well  stand  together  in  one  act.  The  dear 
classicists  could  not  have  supposed  a  battle  in 
a  play  without  accommodating  the  progress  of 
the  action  to  an  imaginary  lapse  of  twelve  hours. 
Ponderous  incidents  had  to  intervene  between 
expectation  and  fulfillment.  Very  well,— your 
battle  may  go  between  the  acts  in  the  extremity. 
In  modern  usage  twelve  minutes,  and  not  twelve 
hours,  will  serve  for  a  very  heavy  engagement. 
A  character  in  the  play  could  not  well  go  half- 
way across  the  globe  and  back  during  the  action 
of  an  act.  He  had  best  make  his  journey  while 
the  curtain  is  down. 

There  are  practical  reasons  why  there  should 
be  periods  of  rest.  There  are  many  plays  of 
great  intensity  where  the  chief  actor  could  not 


68  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

by  any  possibility  stand  up  under  the  uninter- 
rupted expenditure  of  energy,  physical,  mental, 
and  emotional.  He  would  lose  in  effect  at  mo- 
ments requiring  the  full  glow  of  his  power.  It 
is  believed  by  the  academicians  that  the  specta- 
tor requires  the  opportunity  to  gain  appreciation 
of  the  story  in  the  interval  and  to  enjoy  the 
retrospect ;  but  as  audiences  are  rarely  ruminant 
at  such  times,  we  may  assume  that  the  true  rea- 
son or  pretext  for  the  interval  is  partly  the  im- 
agined necessity  or  desire  for  rest.  It  is  easy  to 
note  many  conveniences  afforded  by  these  inter- 
vals, and  some  causes,  to  be  touched  upon,  nat- 
ural as  well  as  technical,  which  may  be  impera- 
tive with  certain  material ;  but  in  the  use  of 
other  material  it  is  possible  that  in  the  evolution 
of  the  drama  uninterrupted  performances  will  be 
given  without  a  fall  of  the  curtain  until  the  end 
of  the  play.  It  may  then  be  found  that  great 
fire  and  strength  is  gained  by  the  swift  action, 
undelayed  by  the  curtain  and  the  pauses.  "  One 
hundred  francs  for  you,'*  once  said  the  elder 
Dumas,  "  if  the  curtain  is  raised  before  the  ap- 
plause dies  away."  Instead  of  three  hours,  two 
would  suffice  to  unfold  the  story,  the  interest 
would  speed  along,  the  illusion  would  be  deeper, 
sending  the  audience  home  with  heightened 
pulse  and  warmer  enthusiasm.  The  magic  of 


The  Division  into  Acts.  69 

scene-shifting  will  be  such,  after  a  while,  thatjn 
the  romantic  play  much  will  be  gained  by  the 
continuity.  These  features  are  suggested  in 
order  to  impress  the  fact  that  the  division  into 
acts  is  not  an  integral  necessity  of  every  theme. 
In  point  of  fact,  even  now,  where  the  facilities 
exist  for  quick  change  of  stage,  or  where  the 
same  scene  serves  for  the  next  act,  the  interval 
is  not  customarily  more  than  a  minute  or  so  in 
duration.  When  time  is  imagined  to  elapse,  or 
something  of  importance,  not  acted  for  some 
good  reason,  to  occur  during  an  interval,  the 
curtain  is  indispensable. 

In  this  relation  we  may  dispose  of  the  ques- 
tion of  time  on  the  stage.  The  lapse  of  time 
that  may  be  safely  left  to  the  imagination  de- 
pends entirely  upon  the  conditions  that  make 
for  illusion.  We  have  just  seen  that  the  fall  of 
the  curtain  will  provide  for  any  lapse  of  time, 
and  an  author's  common  sense  will  teach  him 
not  to  advance  by  leaps  and  bounds  in  the  same 
act,  or,  at  least,  the  same  scene.  The  reappear-  - 
ance  of  a  character  ten  minutes  after  he  has  left 
the  stage,  announcing  that  he  has  been  gone 
half  an  hour,  will  be  accepted  if  the  action  is  of 
diverting  interest ;  but  it  is  not  wise  to  have  a 
clock  about,  however  accommodating  it  may  be. 

It  is  certain  that  the  treatment  of  the  material 


70  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

is  very  considerably  affected  by  the  division  into 
acts ;  and  these  divisions  have  strong  technical 
reasons  for  their  existence. 

Let  us  add  a  few  to  those  already  stated. 
These  acts  present  distinct  pictures  and  so  assist 
in  the  final  and  full  understanding  of  the  play. 
There  is  less  chance  that  the  general  impression 
be  blurred  in  any  of  its  parts  when  each  act 
does  its  work.  Scenic  necessities  have  much  to 
do  with  it  also.  The  conventional  division  into 
acts,  then,  is  the  point  of  view  from  which  to 
proceed  in  a  technical  analysis  of  the  structure 
of  a  play. 

A  play  is  not  written  in  the  sense  that  an 
essay  or  a  poem  is.  It  is  constructed.  It  is  an 
organism,  with  connected,  articulated  parts,  that 
consist  of  other  parts,  all  with  distinct  organ- 
isms, all  co- related,  none  of  which  can  be  taken 
from  the  chain  without  breaking  the  continuity. 
Thus  a  drama  is  divided  into  acts,  the  acts  into 
scenes.  They  are  just  as  essential  to  intelligent 
work  as  they  are  to  the  general  understanding 
of  the  play  in  performance.  Each  scene  accom- 
plishes something,  and  the  sum  of  these  scenes 
makes  the  act,  as  the  sum  of  the  acts  makes  the 
play.  These  acts  cannot  be  arranged  merely 
with  reference  to  the  time  of  performance  or  to 
equality  in  the  number  of  lines.  The  mathemat- , 


The  Division  into  Acts.  71 

ical  division  of  an  apple  is  one  thing,  and  the 
apportionment  of  effects  in  a  play  is  another.  It 
is  true  that  Corneille  is  accurate  to  a  line  in 
some  of  his  plays,  but  it  is  a  mannerism  only. 
The  length  of  an  act  is  determined  by  what  that 
act  is  to  accomplish.  When  it  reaches  the  end 
of  that  function  the  act  is  done,  be  it  long  or 
short. 

The  middle  of  the  action — which  does  not 
mean  a  mathematical  division  into  two.  equal 
parts — provides  the  climax,  and  to  this  climax 
the  action  ascends  from  the  beginning  or  intro- 
duction, and  from  it  falls  to  the  end  or  catas- 
trophe. 

To  say  that  the  action  rises  is  plain  enough, 
but  to  describe  it  as  falling  is  not  entirely  satis- 
factory at  first  blush. 

The  interest  in  a  true  drama  remains  to  the 
end.  The  action  declines  or  falls  rather  in  the 
sense  of  direction  to  an  end.  The  action — with- 
out regard  to  the  interest — is  narrowed  to  fewer 
expedients ;  the  resources  of  the  persons  in  the 
strife  are  fewer ;  the  possibilities  of  what  may 
happen  are  narrowed  down  now  almost,  or,  it 
may  be  said,  assuredly,  to  the  inevitable.  Be- 
tween the  three  points  of  beginning,  middle, 
and  end  lie  the  divisions  of  development  and 
denouement. 


72  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

Before  the  beginning  of  the  action  (of  issue 
joined),  or  along  with  it,  there  must  be  an  expo- 
sition of  circumstances ;  and  all  these  necessities 
exist  in  a  play  of  pne  act  or  of  whatever  num- 
ber of  acts.  In  the  three-act  drama  they  would 
be  thus  associated:  i,  Exposition,  or  introduc- 
tion, and  beginning  (of  action) ;  2,  development 
and  climax ;  3,  denouement  and  catastrophe  or 
end.  In  five  acts  they  follow  in  this  order:  i, 
Introduction  and  beginning;  2,  development; 
3,  climax;  4,  denouement;  5,  catastrophe  or 
end.  Each  of  these  divisions  has  its  peculiar 
structure,  as  remains  to  be  examined.  The  terms 
used  above  in  describing  the  divisions  are  not 
better  than  other  terms  that  may  be  preferred, 
such  as  in  the  place  of  development,  beginning 
of  the  complication;  in  the  place  of  denoue- 
ment, untying  the  knot;  introduction  for  ex- 
position; catastrophe,  ending — what  you  will. 
Each  act  is  so  much  a  thing  for  itself  that  they 
are  all  susceptible  of  descriptive  titles,  as  "  Love," 
"  Betrayal,"  "  Death,"  each  of  which  suggests  a 
play  in  itself. 

The  chief  concern — the  fatal  concern — of  an 
inexperienced  writer  is  for  a  plot.  He  wants  it 
already  prepared  in  every  detail.  His  anxious 
inquiry  is,  "  How  is  a  plot  made?  "  as  if  it  were 
a  matter  of  a  few  moments.  It  is  not  made  at 


The  Division  into  Acts.  73 

all.  It  is  a  growth,  as  has  been  explained  in 
treating  of  the  theme.  Brougham's  saying  is 
correct,  "A  play  writes  itself."  The  plot  or 
story  is  the  result  of  laws  in  human  nature,  and 
no  one  can  codify  those  laws,  modified  as  human 
nature  is  by  so  many  numberless  conditions. 
The  plot  will  be  found  in  the  subject  and  no- 
where else ;  and  a  plot  patched  up  from  various 
sources  is  rarely  effective.  Of  course  any  story, 
if  of  dramatic  nature,  may  become  the  plot  of  a 
play,  subject  to  dramatic  arrangement  and  con- 
vention; but  such  things  are  for  the  adapters 
and  the  "old  clo's"  men  of  the  profession,  who 
hunt  around  continually  in  all  manner  of  literary 
rag-bags  for  their  stock  in  trade.  Shakspere 
used  many  ready-made  plots,  but  he  applied  to 
them  all  the  process  of  germination  from  the 
roots. 

In  one  sense  a  plot  is  made.  We  arrive  at  a 
story  by  solving  a  problem.  Take  the  familiar 
one-act  piece  in  which  man  and  wife  at  break- 
fast begin  talking  with  great  amiability,  become 
disputatious  and  quarrelsome,  and  finally  fall 
again  into  loving  agreement.  The  object  was 
to  present  a  domestic  scene  in  which  the  folly 
of  high  temper  was  to  be  proved.  The  problem 
was,  how  to  do  it  ?  In  other  words,  you  assume 
a  proposition  and  demonstrate  it.  It  is  almost 


74  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

superfluous  to  say,  after  what  has  been  said  on 
the  value  of  material,  that  the  proposition  must 
be  susceptible  of  proof. 

It  is  easier  for  an  author  to  write  a  play,  if  he 
knows  how  to  do  it,  than  it  is  to  steal  one.  In 
the  same  way  adaptation  may  be  harder  than 
original  work.  A  play  is  not  a  puzzle.  Be  the 
theme  simple  or  complex,  and  it  should  be  nei- 
ther  too  simple  nor  too  complex,  the  play  is 
powerful  in  proportion  to  the  simplicity  of  the 
olot — that  is,  to  its  clearness. 

Plot  is  similar  to  composition  in  painting. 
Emotion  alone  is  not  plot.  Action — with  all 
tending  to  one  point,  as  in  a  spider's  web — will 
produce  a  plot ;  and  in  any  dramatic  theme  the 
main  incidents  are  in  plain  view  to  any  intelligent 
author.  If  we  take  the  biblical  account  of 
Samson,  we  know  that  a  play  based  on  it  must 
include  a  scene  to  show  the  strong  man's  prow- 
ess, another  to  represent  his  infatuation  for  De- 
lilah, and  again  his  imprisoned  condition  and  final 
pulling  down  of  the  temple.  We  know  that 
jealousy  will  lead  to  murder;  that  rivalry  begets 
suspicion,  just  or  unjust,  while  other  incidents 
appear  to  the  imagination  at  once.  These  are 
the  landmarks,  and  are  to  be  staked  off,  just  as  the 
surveyor  gets  his  bearings,  just  as  the  artist  gets 
his  proportions.  It  is  not  hard  to  get  a  plot  if  it 


The  Division  into  Acts.  75 

exists  in  the  subject.  The  story  ought  to  be 
susceptible  of  being  told  in  very  few  words ;  and 
with  this  simple  plot  which  the  author  finds  or 
makes,  he  proceeds  to  detail.  The  secret  of  his 
work  in  a  nutshell,  then,  is  to  so  write  that, 
after  all  is  done  and  told,  it  is  reducible  to  his 
original  proposition.  It  is  not  enough  that  he 
never  forgets  his  original  design.  He  must  so 
unfold  the  story  that  the  audience  never  forgets 
what  is  material  for  it  to  know ;  as,  for  instance, 
an  individual  may  be  kept  in  mind  and  yet  be 
seen  rarely  or  not  at  all  in  the  action ;  or,  to 
illustrate  by  a  point  of  technique,  the  cause, 
before  stated  in  the  play,  may  be  recalled  by 
a  suggestive  touch  just  before  the  result.  In 
short,  a  drama  should  be  as  plain  as  a  primer. 
One  little  omission  anywhere,  or  a  fact  feebly 
presented,  and  forgotten  by  the  audience,  may 
in  the  end  destroy  the  illusion. 

It  was  once  a  requirement  that  there  should 
be  an  underplot.  This  was  accomplished  usually 
by  a  love-affair  between  minor  characters.  In 
"  Daniel  Rochat "  it  is  between  Casimir  and 
Lea's  sister.  In  "  Camille  "  it  is  slight,  but  in- 
tegral. It  may  be  required  for  various  reasons, 
but  is  not  indispensable.  It  provides  padding 
for  plays  when  the  main  incident  is  insufficient 
or  does  not  of  itself  furnish  sufficient  variety. 


76  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

i.  THE  INTRODUCTION. — The  beginning  of 
a  play — the  exposition — is  in  direct  relation  with 
the  end,  and  indeed  with  all  that  lies  between, 
so  that  an  author  who  knows  exactly  the  prob- 
lem that  he  has  in  hand  lays  his  foundation  with 
mathematical  exactitude.  It  is  here  that  trained 
writers  like  D'Ennery  show  a  beautiful  skill,  a 
fine  and  unlabored  touch,  that  is  all  the  result 
of  absolute  mastery  of  the  whole  matter  before 
the  detail  is  entered  upon.  The  processes  of 
any  particular  mind  in  the  evolution  of  a  true 
play  it  would  be  futile  to  surmise,  for  the 
thought  of  it  is  voluminous,  patient,  often  per- 
plexed, making  a  beginning  here  and  renewing 
the  attack  there  upon  a  subject ;  but  it  is  safe 
to  say  that  the  general  plot  is  always  well 
formed  in  the  mind  before  the  introduction  is 
put  into  shape.  It  is  here  that  preparation  is 
made  for  the  action  and  the  end.  In  the  intro- 
duction are  to  appear  clearly,  and  as  briefly  as 
the  subject  admits,  the  conditions  out  of  which 
the  action  grows.  There  is  a  natural  order  of 
facts  in  every  story,  and  few  men  go  amiss  in 
ordinary  talk  in  relating  a  personal  experience 
of  a  dramatic  nature.  In  such  a  case  it  is  a  sim- 
ple matter  of  course  to  state  at  once  the  time 
and  place  of  the  happening  of  interest.  "  When 
I  was  traveling  in  India,  just  before  the  Sepoy 


The  Division  into  Acts.  77 

Rebellion,"  or,  "  During  the  war,  when  I  was  in 
command  of  a  company  under  Sheridan  in  the 
Valley  of  Virginia,"  or,  "  In  the  latter  part  of  '49, 
when  I  was  mining  in  the  Golden  Gulch  in  Cali- 
fornia," illustrate  the  simple  beginnings  of  such 
recitals.  All  such  primary  facts  must  be  mar- 
shaled in  the  introduction  of  a  play.  These  are 
the  antecedents  of  action.  Facts  of  time,  place, 
and  circumstance ;  facts  of  color,  of  tone,  of  char- 
acter, and  facts  of  action  or  plot,  press  toward  ex- 
pression. Exactly  with  what  force  to  state  them, 
exactly  how  much  of  a  fact  to  withhold,  and  the 
form  to  give  them,  are  matters  of  judgment  and 
of  purpose.  When  a  subject  has  been  thought 
over  and  dreamed  over  until  it  is  ready  for  the 
shaping,  a  quantity  of  material  has  been  accu- 
mulated that  must  be  mastered,  for  there  is 
more  of  it  than  can  be  used.  The  preliminary 
thought — like  the  studies  of  a  painter — hasiur- 
nished  possibilities,  actualities,  and  touches,  that 
must  be  sifted ;  much  must  be  rejected  because 
of  superfluity,  or  because  of  identity  in  value  or 
use.  It  is  in  the  power  of  will  to  reject,  that 
one  secret  of  a  firm  touch  lies.  Of  all  this 
material  a  part  belongs  by  necessity  to  the  in- 
troduction. 

There  is  a  great  reserve  of  knowledge  in  an 
audience,  and  it  is  of  importance  not  to  write 


78  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

above  or  too  far  below  that  line  of  common  in- 
formation. At  the  present  time  scenery  serves 
economy  in  expression,  although  it  may  be  said, 
with  significance,  that  it  could  not  supply  the 
magic  of  the  words  in  the  lines  of  Shakspere's 
"As  You  Like  It."  Costume  tells  its  own  story 
alsp.  General  character  is  visible  in  the  actor's 
counterfeit,  as  is  his  station  in  life  and  probable 
use  in  the  story.  Local  color  and  the  place  of 
action  are  given  in  the  painted  cloths.  These 
let  us  call  passive  facts.  They  at  least  confirm 
the  text,  and  give,  at  once,  needful  general  im- 
pressions. 

Let  us  illustrate  for  a  moment  how  D'Ennery 
in  "  The  Two  Orphans  "  proceeds  from  the  gen- 
eral to  the  particular.  It  is  a  good  example, 
too,  of  a  play  springing  into  instant  life.  The 
curtain  rises  and  we  see  the  Pont  Neuf,  by  the 
river  Seine,  a  familiar  mark  in  the  heart  of 
Paris  that  we  know ;  the  city  lying  before  us ; 
picturesque  types  of  people,  and  the  whole  scene 
full  of  color ;  all  with  a  general  purpose.  This 
is  the  city  of  beggars  and  rascals  and  libertines, 
of  wealth  and  of  poverty. 

Note  the  immediate  juxtaposition  of  La  Fro- 
chard  and  the  Marquis  de  Presles.  We  first,  and 
on  sight,  know  Frochard  as  a  beggar  only.  Five 
lines,  and  she  is  off,  not  to  reappear  for  a  con- 


The  Division  into  Acts.  79 

siderable  space.  The  Marquis  unfolds  his  own 
character  in  telling  of  the  vision  of  a  beautiful 
girl  in  a  chaise,  seen  while  returning  to  Paris. 
His  valet  had  been  conferred  with.  There  is 
villainy  in  hand.  The  Marquis  speaks  inciden- 
tally of  the  sister  of  this  vision.  He  tells  his 
friends  to  come  to  Bell  Air  that  evening.  The 
two  travelers,  the  girls,  are  to  be  met  by  a  rela- 
tive, an  old  citizen.  He  is  spirited  away  by  the 
valet.  Then  in  scenes  are  exhibited  the  true 
character  of  La  Frochard,  and  the  relations,  of 
Jacques  and  Pierre.  And  so  the  story  runs  with 
absolute  clearness,  each  scene  definite  and  im- 
pressive. Always  does  D'Ennery  first  suggest 
and  then  confirm.  It  is  not  until  the  tenth  page 
of  the  printed  play  that  we  learn  that  Louise  is 
blind.  The  helplessness  of  the  two  sisters,  the 
certainty  of  disaster  to  them,  was  enough  at  first ; 
then  the  withheld  fact — the  blindness — comes 
with  a  thrill.  D'Ennery  introduces  facts  of 
person,  of  character,  and  of  plot  with  masterly 
effect  and  order,  and  expresses  the  relations  be- 
tween people  at  exactly  the  right  time. 

So  much  for  the  present,  by  way  of  indicating 
the  process  of  coming  from  the  general  to  the 
particular.  All  the  causes  and  motives  of  future 
action  lie  in  the  introduction.  It  contains  all  the 
possibilities.  In  "  The  Two  Orphans  "  it  is  the 


8o  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

rescue  of  Marianne  from  suicide  by  Henriette — 
a  mere  incident  in  point  of  time  in  acting — that 
leads  to  the  climax  of  the  powerful  third  act ; 
and  there  is  hardly  a  scene  or  a  saying  that  does 
not  cross  some  thread  in  the  woof.  All  is  pre- 
pared for,  and  nothing  is  sudden,  for  in  this  in- 
troduction the  Doctor  examines  Louise's  eyes, 
and  the  hope  of  restoration  in  the  last  is  not  a 
mere  device.  The  scene  of  conflict  between 
Pierre  and  Jacques  is  squarely  founded  on  scenes 
in  the  first  act,  and  in  the  proof  then  proffered 
that  the  Frochards  "  come  of  a  family  that  kill." 
It  has  been  said  that  action  precedes  character 
in  importance,  but  a  fact  of  character  may  be 
identical  with  a  fact  of  action.  It  is  better  to 
suggest  rather  than  to  dwell  on  chance  in  the 
introduction. 

This  introduction  contains  the  promise  that 
must  have  fulfillment.  Emphasis  must  be  made 
on  the  points  that  are  to  be  moving  forces.  The 
sympathies  are  to  be  directed,  but  if  action  is  to 
grow  on  the  line  of  sympathy,  it  is  obvious  that 
an  introductory  scene  involving  it  must  not  be 
exhaustive.  The  wishes  and  purposes  of  the 
characters  are  to  appear,  and  at  a  certain  point 
of  complexity  in  this  first  act  the  clash  of  op- 
posing interests  is  sure  to  come ;  with  it  come 
curiosity  and  interest,  and  the  function  of  the 
first  act  is  thus  completed. 


The  Division  into  Acts.  81 

The  action  must  unfold  itself  out  of  the  pres- 
ent feelings  and  relations  of  the  actors.  It  is  not 
the  less  certain  that  in  order  to  bring  the  action 
into  the  desired  limits  or  a  certain  focus,  that 
antecedent  happenings  of,  perhaps,  years  before, 
must  be  stated.  If  the  exposition  of  such  facts  be 
not  made  a  part  of  the  action,  the  statement  had 
as  well,  if  not  better,  be  printed  in  the  program 
or  spoken  in  a  prologue;  for  the  facts  become 
truly  effective  only  when  treated  in  the  technical 
way.  When  they  are  told  as  a  mere  artifice, 
directed  to  the  audience  and  not  to  a  person  of 
the  drama,  action  halts.  It  is  exactly  at  these 
points  that  technique  becomes  of  supreme  im- 
portance to  the  author.  He  has  his  material. 
How  is  he  going  to  contrive  to  get  certain  facts 
into  evidence  ?  There  are  many  ways,  good  and 
bad.  It  requires  a  nice  judgment  and  a  patient 
mind  to  determine  between  them.  The  author 
must  make  the  occasion — be  it  a  confidence  be- 
tween lovers ;  a  quarrel  of  recrimination  in  which 
facts  familiar  to  the  two  are  brought  out ;  or  a 
soliloquy,  etc.  There  is  no  excuse  for  clumsiness 
in  these  elementary  things. 

Action  should  be  like  the  arrow  sped  from  the 
string. 

Othello  tells  of  his  antecedents  and  of  his 
courtship  of  Desdemona  in  a  situation  of  dra- 
matic intensity  before  the  ducal  court  of  Venice. 


82  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

His  words  are  not  addressed  to  the  audience  in 
a  theatre.  The  Ghost  of  Hamlet's  Father  gives 
a  bit  of  unrevealed  history  in  a  form  that  is 
surely  dramatic. 

The  rehearsal  of  a  story  obviously  intended 
for  the  audience  alone  is  clumsy,  and  begets 
doubt  in  the  skill  of  the  author.  However,  a 
long  recital  seems  necessary  at  times.  Daniel 
Rochat's  account  of  himself  to  Bidache  is  an  ex- 
ample. 

To  be  dramatic,  the  mechanical  object  must 
be  concealed,  and  there  should  be  reason  for  the 
hearing  as  well  as  for  the  telling. 

Note  how  that  is  managed  throughout  the 
scene  in  "Caste.1*  Hawtree  says:  "Tell  us 
about  it — you  know  I've  been  away,"  etc.  In 
"Eustace  Baudin,"  to  a  new-comer  it  is  said: 
"  You  are  our  neighbor  and  should  hear  our  lit- 
tle history."  Note  that  the  figure  is  practically 
created  for  this  purpose — as  a  medium  of  infor- 
mation, and  for  a  scene  at  the  close.  An  un- 
skillful writer  would  have  permitted  Baudin  and 
wife  to  go  over  the  story  between  themselves, 
in  order  to  give  it  to  the  audience.  Narrative 
is  entirely  proper  used  in  the  right  way.  Note 
in  "  Marble  Heart,"  Marco's  passionate  recital 
of  her  history.  The  occasion  for  narrative  we 
usually  find  in  the  introduction,  but  it  may  oc- 


The  Division  into  Acts.  83 

cur  later  on,  where  it  is  more  readily  handled,  as 
in  the  case  just  cited.  Proper  use  of  narrative 
may  be  seen  in  "  Under  the  Gaslight,"  where 
Pearl  tells  Ray  about  Laura's  early  history. 

The  confidence  and  pleasure  of  the  spectator 
should  be  gained  in  the  beginning.  He  is  a 
perverse  and  unworthy  hearer,  indeed,  if  he  be 
not  then  in  a  receptive  state.  He  submits  him- 
self entirely  to  you.  He  may  combat  you  later 
on  if  your  preparation  for  the  gist  of  the  drama 
is  inadequate. 

Clearness  is  an  essential  and  fundamental  rule 
— its  quality  being  more  telling  than  in  rhetoric 
itself.  Preparation  is  the  solvent.  It  has  in- 
finitely to  do  with  clearness.  Note  in  Sar- 
dou's  "  Scrap  of  Paper  "  ("  Pattes  de  Mouche  ") 
how  our  attention  is  called  to  the  statuette  of 
Flora  by  the  warning  of  the  housekeeper  to 
the  servant  not  to  touch  it.  It  is  not  required 
that  we  suspect  the  use  to  which  it  is  to  be  put. 
The  dramatist  makes  the  technical  point  and 
passes  on.  Ten  pages  farther  the  two  former 
lovers  speak  of  the  statuette,  and  then  we  see 
what  quaint  and  wonderful  relations  it  has  with 
the  action.  Thus  the  action  proceeds  without  a 
jolt  or  a  pause.  It  is  established  in  our  belief 
step  by  step  that  a  love-letter  was  left  in  this 
Love's  post-box  three  years  before  by  the 


84  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

woman  since  married,  and  that  it  is  there  now. 
Imagine  this  preparation  lacking,  and  Louise 
explaining  for  the  first  time  at  this  point,  to 
Prosper  Couramont  and  the  audience,  that  the 
room  has  not  been  opened  for  three  years.  Im- 
agine Marianne,  in  the  third  act  of  "  The  Two 
Orphans,"  suddenly,  and  without  the  motive 
afforded  by  the  incident  in  Act  I.,  offering  her- 
self for  transportation  in  the  place  of  Henriette. 
Preparation  and  motive  are  both  in  the  ac- 
count here.  In  this  way  motives  and  situations 
are  explained  by  antecedent  facts,  and  not  by  a 
present  explanation  by  the  actor  of  his  feelings. 
It  at  any  rate  leaves  perfect  freedom  in  the 
handling  of  such  text. 

The  spectator  is  part  author  of  a  play.  By 
his  interest,  curiosity,  and  anticipation  he  builds 
like  the  author.  Everything  must  be  made 
clear  to  his  understanding,  for  to  it  the  emotions 
are  subordinate.  Clearness  does  not  require  that 
the  special  use  of  the  statuette,  Flora,  be  stated, 
or  even  suggested  at  once.  There  is  a  nicety  of 
art  in  revealing  facts  that  is  governed  by  the 
material.  There  are  coups  de  theatre,  such  as 
disguises  suddenly  thrown  off,  as  of  Sir  Thomas 
Clifford  in  "The  Hunchback,"  but  these  are 
surprises  that  are  cleared  up  in  a  flash.  All  that 
has  gone  before  affords  instant  explanation.  It 


The  Division  into  Acts.  85 

is  not  the  unexpected  that  always  happens  in 
the  drama.  It  is  a  question  of  occupying  the 
mind  and  the  sympathies  by  way  of  illusion, 
and  thus  it  is  possible,  paradoxical  as  it  seems, 
to  maintain  interest  and  curiosity  in  a  play  that 
we  have  seen  a  hundred  times.  It  requires, 
perhaps,  all  the  more  skill  for  that  reason.  It 
is  obligatory  not  to  reveal  too  much,  so  as  not 
to  take  away  the  interest. 

Clearness  in  the  evolution  of  an  action  does 
not  always  require  an  immediate  statement  of  a 
fact.  When  and  how  to  state  a  fact  are  condi- 
tional. An  audience  has  satisfaction  in  divining, 
and  are  willing  to  await  recital.  There  is  always 
some  impression  or  effect  that  is  of  the  first  im- 
portance. We  see  this  in  the  case  of  Adrienne 
in  the  beginning  of  the  second  act  of  "  A  Cele- 
brated Case."  The  suggestion  that  this  is  the 
daughter  of  Jean  Renaud  is  of  the  faintest  kind. 
It  is  hardly  in  the  text,  but  it  is  enough.  It  is 
indeed  the  present,  and  not  the  past,  that  most 
concerns  the  story  at  this  point.  Soon  the  story 
begins  anew  with  the  force  of  the  first  happen- 
ings an  active  part  of  it.  On  the  other  hand, 
at  the  opening  of  an  act  the  story  cannot  pro- 
ceed without  a  mass  of  facts  plainly  stated.  As 
the  first  instance  at  hand,  examine  Act  II.  of 
"Eustace  Baudin." 


86  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

That  there  must  be  skill  in  selecting  the  time 
and  manner  of  stating  facts,  implies  that  they 
must  not  be  given  in  bulk  or  in  a  jumble. 

What  is  to  be  stated  and  what  is  to  be  acted, 
and  when,  is  a  matter  of  weighing  effects ;  and 
is  peculiarly  technical,  for  the  technical  concerns 
effects.  The  author  must  stand  back  from  his 
work  from  time  to  time  and  regard  it  as  a  spec- 
tator ;  and  he  will  often  find  technical  necessi- 
ties that  are  absolutely  pitiless.  And  yet  tech- 
nique is  generous.  The  manner  of  bringing 
forward  these  facts  it  leaves  to  the  touch  of  the 
artist,  and  in  the  nature  of  the  human  mind  it 
could  in  no  two  cases  be  identical,  though  the 
effect  might  be  substantially  the  same,  if  two 
dramas  were  written  by  two  authors  of  equal 
skill  on  agreed  facts.  In  "  A  Scrap  of  Paper  " 
the  fact  that  Anatole  and  Mathilde  are  lovers 
could  for  the  moment  have  been  announced  by 
the  servants  in  their  conversation,  but  these  lov- 
ers are  important,  and  about  the  first  business 
of  the  action  is  to  prove  this  fact,  not  suggest  it 
merely,  and  to  get  them  out  of  the  way  by 
means  of  a  scene  that  makes  certain  promises  of 
action  up  to  which  they  must  live.  You  know 
what  to  expect  of  them.  They  are  definite. 
When  the  point  of  condensation,  definiteness,  is 
reached,  author  and  spectator  alike  are  at  ease 


The  Division  into  Acts.  87 

in  the  progressive  development.  In  "  The  Sil- 
ver King  "  the  murder  must  be  acted. 

There  are  some  facts  that  unmistakably  be- 
long to  the  gist  of  the  matter.  They  must  be 
given  a  place  in  the  acted  evidence.  In  any  play 
concerning  William  Tell,  his  marksmanship  must 
be  shown  early  in  the  action.  Accordingly, 
both  Schiller  and  Sheridan  Knowles  impress  at 
the  very  opening  of  the  play  the  skill  of  the 
hunter.  In  "  The  Courier  of  Lyons  "  the  first 
scenes  possess  us  with  an  absolute  acted  com- 
parison of  Lesurques  and  Dubosc.  Description 
would  not  answer. 

While  the  unexpressed,  the  indefinite,  and 
the  unexplained  will  leave  an  effect  ineffective, 
on  the  other  hand  over-fullness  and  elaboration 
may  weary,  and  so  blur  impressions.  The  fact 
should  be  so  put  that  it  will  be  recalled  instantly, 
for  the  spectator  must  always  be  up  with  the 
action.  In  the  prologue  of  "A  Celebrated  Case" 
an  important  point  is  the  hot  temper  and  jeal- 
ousy of  Jean  Renaud.  He  becomes  an  innocent 
convict  mainly  on  that  point.  We  see  nothing 
but  love  for  his  wife  in  the  action ;  but  the  con- 
ditions under  which  this  hot  temper  and  jealousy 
are  referred  to  make  the  impression. 

It  would  be  misleading  to  set  up  a  rule  that 
we  find  in  the  jargon  of  technique,  that  the 


88  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

action  of  the  introduction  must  be  quiet.  In 
the  nature  of  the  case  it  usually  is.  It  must  cer- 
tainly be  a  clear  dramatic  statement  of  facts,  but, 
among  such  fine  examples  as  Shakspere  fur- 
nishes, we  can  hardly  say  that  it  is  a  quiet  ac- 
tion where  lago  and  his  companions  at  midnight 
hammer  at  Brabantio's  door,  or  in  "  Romeo  and 
Juliet,"  where  it  opens  with  a  street-brawl.  To 
say  that  the  action  should  not  be  at  its  height 
in  the  introduction  is  one  thing,  and  to  deny  ani- 
mation to  it  is  another.  The  anger  of  Brabantio 
at  the  elopement  of  Desdemona  really  does  not 
touch  the  issue  of  Othello's  jealousy  except  in 
the  way  of  prophecy,  and  so  is  merely  incidental. 
There  are  no  proportions  in  the  play  disturbed 
by  it. 

A  "quiet  beginning"  to  a  play  has  a  certain 
value — and  is  in  the  nature  of  nearly  all  plays — 
because  a  number  of  general  impressions  are  to 
be  conveyed  at  once  ;  and  a  point  of  special  sig- 
nificance should  not  be  lost  in  the  state  of  un- 
readiness in  which  an  audience  often  finds  itself; 
but  to  "  give  an  audience  time  to  settle  "  is  not 
necessarily  a  rule. 

Care  should  be  taken  that  the  beginning  is 
not  on  too  high  a  note.  This  is  a  correct  prin- 
ciple, but  this  book  of  technique  shall  not  draw 


The  Division  into  Acts.  89 

the  false  law  out  of  this  principle  that  a  play 
shall  not  open  with  masses.  It  depends.  An 
immobile  tableau  is  certainly  faulty. 

Everything  in  a  play  may  be  regarded  as  a 
fact,  and  facts  as  values,  as  the  painters  say; 
consequently  sympathy  is  not  to  be  evoked  too 
strongly  at  this  stage,  any  more  than  any  other 
part  of  the  order  of  facts  and  emotion  is  to  be 
anticipated. 

The  introduction  should  be  careful  and  con- 
tain all  the  essential  facts,  but  disproportionate 
length  is  to  be  guarded  against.  The  material 
is  usually  at  fault  where  overmuch  exposition  is 
required.  What  and  how  much  to  give  in  this 
introduction  is  determined  by  the  material  only. 
The  first  act  must  be  perfect  in  itself  as  a  part 
of  a  whole.  It  must  accomplish  something,  and 
be  a  completed  standpoint  from  which  the  de- 
velopment of  the  action  may  be  considered.  It 
must  embrace  continuity  and  preparation.  In 
"  The  Two  Orphans  "  there  is  introductory  mat- 
ter in  all  the  first  three  acts,  but  each  act  takes 
you  a  literary  league  onward. 

The  style  of  the  play  and  tone  of  the  action 
are  indicated  in  the  introduction,  so  that  a  farce 
does  not  begin  like  a  melodrama.  From  the 
overture  we  divine  the  tempo  of  a  piece,  the 


90  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

passion  and  the  pace  with  which  it  is  to  progress. 
In  none  of  its  elements  should  the  notes  be 
struck  too  high. 

While  there  is  movement  from  the  very  begin- 
ning of  the  first  act,  it  is  when  issue  is  joined 
that  the  action  really  begins.  The  clash  of  in- 
terests arrives  and  the  first  propulsion  is  felt.  It 
is  the  immediate  cause  of  action  that  follows  the 
unfolding  of  the  general  causes.  The  moment 
,  the  hero  of  the  play,  or  his  following,  or  the 
opposing  force,  announces  a  purpose,  the  mech- 
anism is  set  in  motion.  In  "  Richard  III."  it 
begins  at  once.  In  "  Julius  Caesar  "  the  propell- 
ing force  is  the  thought  to  slay  Caesar,  which 
takes  expressive  form  among  the  conspirators 
when  their  design  to  slay  Caesar  becomes  clear. 
It  must  occur  in  every  first  act,  and  is  usually 
not  distant  from  the  conclusion  of  it.  It  should 
not  be  elaborated  to  the  impairment  of  what  is 
to  come. 

The  tendency  of  the  introduction  is  to  clear 

the  decks  for  action  after  "he  clash.   There  is  no 

@~  $k 

part  of  Shakspere's  technique  that  is  more  ob- 
vious than  his  plan  of  bringing  forward  his  per- 
sonages in  the  first  act.  There  can  be  no  abso- 
lute rule  about  the  introduction  of  people ;  but 
the  sooner  the  formalities  are  over  the  better. 
Sometimes  a  character  exists  as  truly  in  the 


The  Division  into  Acts.  91 

Intervening  acts  as  it  may  in  the  third,  although 
its  appearance  may  be  delayed  until  then,  as 
Meg  Merrilies  in  "  Guy  Mannering."  It  may 
exist  in  the  spectator's  reserve  of  knowledge,  as 
Queen  Elizabeth  in  Schiller's  play,  or  the  char- 
acter may  not  appear  at  all.  The  material  deter- 
mines even  in  this  important  part  of  technique. 

The  ancient  prologue  is  a  form  of  introduction 
to  a  play  that  has  fallen  into  disuse.  Father 
Time  no  longer  comes  on  and  imparts  necessary 
information.*  There  are  also  acted  prologues 
that  are  not  organic  parts  of  the  immediate  ac- 
tion. They  are  one-act  plays  in  themselves,  but 
the  beginning  of  larger  stories.  Usually  they 
present  a  different  period  of  life,  as  the  school- 
days of  Jane  Eyre,  while  the  drama  is  of  Jane 
Eyre's  womanhood.  The  tone  and  quality  of 
the  prologue  may  differ  from  that  of  the  drama 
and  may  suffer  in  various  disadvantages  of  not 
being  altogether  organic  with  the  main  play. 
The  prologue  is  often  essential.  It  is  so  in 
"Monte  Christo."  That  hero  of  melodrama 
could  not  with  effect  merely  tell  of  his  imprison- 
ment and  escape. 

A  story  is  romantic  rather  than  dramatic,  if  it 
requires  elaborate  preliminary  statement — as  dis- 
tinguished from  preliminary  action.  Preliminary 

*  See  "  Winter's  Tale,"  etc. 


92  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

action  may  in  the  necessity  of  the  case  at  times 
be  tedious. 

Where  there  are  many  things  not  in  the  ac- 
tion proper,  but  to  be  understood,  it  is  awkward. 
Material  taken  from  everyday  life,  with  the  con- 
ditions known  to  everybody,  is  favorable  to  viril- 
ity. Hundreds  of  little  things  need  not  be  stated 
then;  and  the  author  is  apt  to  at  once  strike 
into  a  vital  action. 

The  recital  of  particular  facts  must  be  made 
I  by  the  right  people  and  not  by  the  mechanical 
/   process.      The    housekeeper    in    "A    Scrap   of 
Paper"   warns   the   servants  not  to   touch  the 
statuette  on  the  mantel,  "because,  etc."     The 
audience  could  have  been  apprised  of  the  same 
facts  by  the  two  domestics,   but   the    Sardou 
touch  in  this  instance  is  fine  and  correct. 
/     The  problem  of  the  play  must  appear  very 
/  soon  by  a  suggestion.     Outlines  may  be  fore- 
shadowed, although   it   is   crude  practically   to 
announce  the  entire  story.     A  certain  distance 
ahead  the  audience  may  see  or  think  they  see. 

If  there  is  any  doubt  about  the  acceptance  of 
the  main  issue  in  a  play  the  introduction  should 
be  conciliatory.  It  should  always  be  agreeable. 

The  French  classicists  used  to  say  that  the 
action  should  begin  on  "  an  important  day,"  the 
eve  of  battle,  and  the  like ;  all  of  which  applies 


The  Division  into  Acts.  93 

to  tragedy  and  sounds  like  the  jargon  of  conven- 
tionalism. It  is  a  specimen  of  how  "  laws  "  are 
made  to  serve  in  the  place  of  principle.  In  the 
nature  of  the  case  in  a  drama,  the  beginning  is 
not  very  remote  from  the  clash,  and  the  climax 
is  soon  in  view,  but  the  "  important  "  day  or  the 
impending  battle  may  well  be  lacking. 

There  are  bits  of  conventionalism  that  an 
author  need  not  be  afraid  of.  No  one  hesitates 
to  use  a  word  because  other  people  use  it,  and 
it  amounts  to  the  same  thing.  The  chamber- 
maid with  the  feather  duster  is  of  legitimate 
stock. 

Old  devices  of  this  minor  sort,  if  they  excite 
ridicule  from  age,  may  for  the  moment  interfere 
with  illusion,  and,  it  is  true,  illusion  should  begin 
at  once.  The  old  trick  of  two  characters  draw- 
ing their  chairs  together  and  under  some  pretext 
of  conversation  relating  to  the  audience  pre- 
liminary facts,  is  bad  and  always  has  been.  In 
the  right  way  the  two  characters  seated  may 
begin  true  action  by  talk. 

Conventional  beginnings,  perfectly  proper  in 
themselves — now  outworn — used  to  be  a  chorus 
of  villagers  or  of  huntsmen  with  "  Hark  to  the 
sound  of  the  stirring  horn,"  or  "List  to  the 
bugle,"  etc. 

Expectation,   suspense,   satisfaction — are   the 


94  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

three  parts  of  a  play.  If  the  first  act  excites 
interest  and  curiosity  as  to  what  is  to  come,  its 
work  is  done.  The  curiosity  should  not  be  of 
the  kind  that  does  not  allow  full  attention  to  the 
scene  immediately  in  hand.  It  should  end  with 
something  definite  accomplished,  and  should  es- 
tablish the  first  experience  of  suspense. 

It  will  be  observed  that  much  more  is  said 
about  the  first  act  than  the  others.  This  is  be- 
cause principles  applicable  to  the  whole  are  there 
encountered ;  and  they  are  treated  by  way  of 
convenience  at  once,  even  though  they  are  to 
be  discussed  in  other  relations. 

2.  THE  DEVELOPMENT. — The  second  act  of 
a  play  of  five  acts  is  devoted  to  the  development 
of  the  action,  bringing  it  one  stage  forward  to  the 
't  climax,  the  end  of  the  third  act.  This  is  pure- 
ly convenience.  We  must  not  forget  that  the 
division  into  acts  is  accidental  and  not  organic. 
Whether  a  play  be  in  one  act  or  more,  its 
natural  parts  are,  the  introduction  and  clash,  the 
development  and  climax,  the  denouement  and 
end — expectation,  suspense,  satisfaction.  The 
clash  comes  invariably  in  the  first  act,  if  act 
there  be.  The  development  may  make  the 
second  act  in  the  order  of  the  five.  It  is  really 
a  division  of  the  matter  that  lies  between  the 


The  Division  into  Acts.  95 

clash  or  the  issue  joined  and  the  climax.  The 
matter  may  or  may  not  be  ample  for  this  use  of 
it.  The  movement  of  the  play  now  has  a  defi- 
nite trend.  It  often  happens  that  new  characters 
must  be  awaited  in  this  act,  but  the  issue  is 
quickly  made,  and  the  problem  is  to  advance 
the  action  to  a  given  point.  In  "  Daniel 
Rochat"  the  first  act  closes  with  the  engage- 
ment of  Lea  and  Daniel. 

The  issue  is  joined  then.  The  danger  to  the 
union  is  surmised.  The  second  act,  or  the  de- 
velopment, carries  the  action  to  the  civil  mar- 
riage, which  prepares  for  the  climax  at  the  end 
of  the  third,  where  there  is  a  split,  which  appears 
almost  irreconcilable,  over  the  religious  cere- 
mony. In  "The  Danicheffs,"  a  play  in  three 
acts,  we  have  development  and  climax  in  the 
second  act.  Act  L,  introduction  and  clash, 
where  the  mother,  the  countess,  has  the  serf  girl, 
beloved  by  her  son,  married  to  another  serf; 
Act  II.,  in  which  the  attempt  is  made  to  inter- 
est the  son  in  St.  Petersburg  society,  and  after 
certain  incidents  he  learns  of  the  treachery  of 
his  mother,  reproaches  her  in  a  powerful  scene, 
a  climax,  and  leaves  to  search  for  Anna.  "  The 
Courier  of  Lyons"  illustrates  the  same  thing: 
Act  I.,  introduction  and  the  clash,  where  the 
father  mistakes  Dubosc  for  his  son,  Joseph 


96  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

Lesurques;  Act  II.,  development  and  climax, 
where  the  examination  by  the  magistrate  seems 
to  prove  the  guilt  of  Lesurques.  It  so  happens 
that  the  material  does  not  require  the  making  of 
two  acts  out  of  the  second  act.  In  other  pieces 
it  is  in  the  nature  of  the  material  that  develop- 
ment and  crisis  should  be  distinct.  In  "  The 
Lady  of  Lyons  "  we  have  the  introduction  and 
the  conspiracy  to  marry  Pauline,  then  the 
marriage  as  Act  II.,  and  then  the  climax  of 
Act  III.  in  Pauline's  discovery  of  the  deceit 
practiced  on  her.  When  development  forms 
a  second  act  it  is  because  of  the  value  of  its 
closing  scene;  because  it  is  a  natural  point  of 
interval ;  because  its  ending  promises  a  climax. 
Its  contents  depend  on  the  object  or  nature 
of  the  play,  for  the  action  of  a  drama  may 
be  rapid  or  slow,  or  it  may  require  develop- 
ment of  character  rather  than  of  plot.  There 
is  no  fixed  proportion  of  elements  in  a  play. 
It  may  be  added  that  any  act  of  a  play  has 
its  beginning,  its  middle,  and  its  end,  very 
much  as  has  the  play,  considered  as  a  whole. 
Interest  in  a  drama  is  to  be  made  cumulative, 
and  the  second  act  in  its  detail  and  entirety 
must  serve  that  end. 

The  scenes,  gathering  force,  and  full  of  mean- 
ing, now  form  situations. 


The  Division  into  Acts.  97 

The  nature  of  situation  may  be  pretty  well 
illustrated  by  reference  to  a  play  called  "  Fate/' 
the  genius  of  whose  author  enabled  him  to  get 
his  situations  by  main  force  if  he  could  not  get 
them  in  any  other  way.  In  "  Fate,"  an  adven- 
turess has  somehow — no  man  can  explain  ex- 
actly how — installed  herself  in  the  house  of  a 
wealthy  gentleman.  By  a  series  of  mistakes 
and  absurdities  she  separates  man  and  wife. 
The  husband  of  the  adventuress,  early  in  the 
action,  while  her  plot  is  forming,  suddenly  and 
unexpectedly  enters  the  room  where  she  is. 
She  is  standing  before  a  large  glass  and  sees  his 
face  reflected  there.  Her  danger  is  great,  for 
the  husband  is  desperate.  In  a  loud  voice  he 
tells  how  she  had  abandoned  him,  of  his  despair 
and  poverty.  He  is  a  tramp;  she  in  silks. 
How  to  get  rid  of  him  ?  She  is  about  to  be  ex- 
posed and  the  victory  is  apparently  his.  Sud- 
denly she  turns  on  him  and  reminds  him  that  he 
has  escaped  from  a  lunatic  asylum.  So  it  goes. 

A  situation  must  touch  the  emotions.  A 
mere  arrangement  of  unprepared  and  unex- 
plained material  for  situations  is  of  no  value. 
Sheridan  makes  it  very  ridiculous  in  "The 
Critic,"  when  Puff  says,  "There's  a  situation  for 
you !  there's  a  heroic  group !  You  see  the 
ladies  can't  stab  Whiskerandos — he  durst  not 


98  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

strike  them  for  fear  of  their  uncles — the  uncles 
durst  not  kill  him  because  of  their  nieces — I 
have  them  all  at  a  deadlock !  for  every  one  of 
them  is  afraid  to  let  go  first." 

A  situation  is  never  reached  without  prep- 
aration. That  preparation  may  be  brief,  as  in 
"  Gisippus,"  where  the  action  begins  almost  at 
once  in  the  appearance  of  an  old  lover  on  the 
day  of  marriage. 

There  are  certain  elements  in  a  play  that  are 
stronger  in  one  act  than  in  another,  but  the 
dramatic  idea  appertains  to  every  scene  in  the 
action,  so  that  curiosity  is  not  excluded  from  the 
remaining  acts  because  it  is  the  first  function  of 
the  first  act,  and  so  on  reciprocally.  Curiosity 
is  one  of  the  begetters  of  interest,  and  with  the 
second  act  begins  the  task  of  sustaining  the 
expectation  already  excited.  The  object  of  the 
first  was  to  get,  the  second  to  keep,  the  atten- 
tion. 

Interest,  of  course,  must  exist  everywhere. 
The  author  must  keep  it  at  all  hazards.  If  he 
finds  that  attention  flags,  he  may  suspect  his 
theme,  or,  likely  enough,  its  treatment.  Genu- 
ine device  may  help  him  out.  Change  of  scene 
or  idea  may  be  needed.  Interest  is  that  which 
excites  curiosity,  sustains  attention,  and  pro- 
duces sympathy.  Nothing  but  action  can  hold 


The  Division  into  Acts.  99 

the  interest  for  an  entire  evening.  Interest  is 
stimulated  by  the  situations ;  and  those  situa- 
tions must  cohere  with  character  and  purpose. 
Uncertainty  is  its  chief  promoter.  Episodic 
interest  is  not  enough.  A  situation  is  the  state 
of  persons  in  the  scene  with  regard  to  others. 
In  a  sense  all  scenes  are  situations,  but  the  tech- 
nical meaning  is  confined  to  points  of  special 
interest,  where  expectation  is  peculiarly  alert  as 
to  what  the  characters  will  say  and  do. 

Several  persons  are  thrown  into  emotion. 
We  realize  from  the  preceding  scenes  the  possi- 
bilities. We  ask,  what  will  be  the  outcome? 
It  is  a  moment  of  contradictory  sentiments  in  the 
characters,  of  suspense  in  the  spectator.  We 
see  a  figure  who  must  decide  between  love  and 
honor ;  patriotism  and  domestic  ties ;  and  so  on. 
There  is  doubt.  There  are  as  many  elements 
of  emotion  possible  as  life  may  afford. 

Interest  leads  to  suspense.  Suspense  as  to 
the  issue  should  remain  in  the  mind;  suspense 
as  to  a  particular  situation  is  a  multiple  of  it. 
Some  plays  are  carried  forward  almost  entirely 
by  suspense.  "Jim  the  Penman'*  is  of  this 
character.  "  Diplomacy  "  is  another  example. 
The  result  is  suspended  to  the  last.  In  situa- 
tions relations  are  changed,  but  you  see  no 
ending. 


ioo          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

In  this,  the  second  act,  begin  to  appear  the 
devices  of  retardation  and  delay — the  art  of  sug- 
gesting and  withholding  gives  life  to  the  story ; 
expectation  has  set  in,  and  now  it  is  newly 
nourished.  In  "Jim  the  Penman"  the  action 
returns  upon  itself  in  constantly  new  complica- 
tions. If  the  action  of  a  play  were  direct,  it 
would  soon  come  to  an  end.  Here  the  compli- 
cation in  the  action  begins.  It  may  be  an  unex- 
pected event.  A  situation,  in  short,  is  brought 
about.  It  excites  a  state  of  affairs  that  must  be 
settled.  In  real  life  we  would  say,  "  Something 
has  to  be  done  about  this."  To  such  resolutions 
we  are  constrained  by  some  opposing  force,  per- 
sonal or  social. 

3.  The  second  division  of  a  play,  with  a  be- 
ginning, middle,  and  end — to  which,  for  conven* 
ience,  may  be  assigned  the  third  act  in  a  five-, 
act  play — contains  the  gist  of  the  purpose,  the 
complexities,  and  the  peril.  The  conflict  has 
developed  into  a  story  and  definite  situation. 
The  figure  of  chief  interest  must  here  reach  an 
apparently  decisive  moment,  and  the  problem 
that  our  heart  or  our  curiosity  concerns  itself 
about  is  now  to  be  almost  apparently  solved, 
except  that  possibilities  remain  to  be  told  in 
the  future  action.  The  ominous  moment  has 
hastened  its  steps,  and  we  are  approaching  the 


The  Division  into  Acts.  101 

crisis  or  the  climax  of  the  story.  It  can  after 
this  go  no  farther  on  that  line  and  upward.  It 
must  change  its  source.  It  is  the  most  impor- 
tant scene,  and  requires  careful  elaboration  to 
sustain  the  quality  of  the  real  climax — its  end- 
ing. It  is  not  necessarily  the  scene  of  the  great- 
est sympathy,  for  the  catastrophe  may  have,  to 
stir  up  depths  of  emotion,  or,  in  the  Vrratt^r'  of 
humor,  the  denouement  may  demand  Hvejiei 
tribute.  In  fact,  in  tragedy  for  example,*  tfrere 
is  here  a  chance  for  the  hero ;  in  the  end,  or  the 
catastrophe,  there  is  none.  The  climax  is  in- 
tense generally,  and  important  always,  and  ap- 
pears for  the  moment  to  be  decisive.  In  plays 
of  three  acts  the  climax  is  at  the  end  of  the 
second,  as  in  "The  Courier  of  Lyons,"  where 
Joseph  Lesurques  is  pronounced  guilty  by  the' 
magistrate ;  as  in  "Article  47,"  where  Cora,  by 
her  well-guarded  threats,  gains  the  deadly  mas- 
tery of  George  Duhamel;  as  in  "The  Dani- 
cheffs,"  where  Count  Vladimir,  learning  of  his 
mother's  treachery  in  forcing  the  marriage  of  the 
serf  that  he  loves  to  Osip,  renounces  the  pres- 
ent splendor  of  the  Court,  and  goes  to  seek  the 
girl;  as  in  "  Caste, "  where  the  Marquise  visits 
Esther  Eccles,  learns  of  her  son's  marriage  to 
her,  and  appears  to  triumph,  in  her  war  of  caste, 
*TI  the  departure  of  her  son  to  the  distant  and 


102          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

perilous  campaign  of  the  soldier ;  as  in  "A  Scrap 
of  Paper,"  where  the  half-burned  note  is  thrown 
out  of  the  window,  after  all  the  busy  intrigue, 
only  to  renew  the  danger.  In  the  five-act  play, 
the  third  act  is  the  natural  point  for  the  climax, 
followed  by  the  even  more  intense  crisis  of  the 
1 1,  fourth  act.  In  "  Daniel  Rochat  "  it  is  the  scene 
•  Tn  which  .the  freethinker's  relentless  determina- 
tjptt  of  ..character  is  confronted  by  the  religious 
principles  of  the  woman  who  is  already  his  wife 
by  the  civil  ceremony.  They  finally  go  apart 
on  this,  but  not  before  their  resolution  is  tried 
by  passion  and  temptation.  In  "Camille"  the 
climax — or  we  may  call  it  the  height  of  the 
action — comes  with  the  interview  between  the 
woman  and  the  father  of  her  lover,  followed  by 
her  struggle  of  emotion  in  the  severance,  and 
her  departure,  her  sacrifice  of  self.  From  these 
few  cases  alone  it  is  sufficiently  manifest  that 
the  climax  is  begotten  of  action,  compounded  of 
it  through  and  through.  It  cannot  exist  with- 
out a  plot ;  being  the  middle  of  a  beginning  and 
an  end  does  not  alone  bring  it  about.  If  it  is  not 
compounded  of  all  that  has  gone  before,  it  is  no 
climax,  it  matters  not  how  thrilling  it  may  be  in 
itself — a  scene  of  shipwreck  or  a  murder.  The 
jackals  among  playwrights  are  constantly  appro- 
priating material  that  in  place  works  with  power, 


The  Division  into  Acts.  103 

out  of  place,  by  its  feeble  effect,  protests  the 
user  a  mere  thief.  Anti-climax  is  a  term 
general  in  its  application,  and  it  may  occur 
at  any  point  where  lesser  interest  follows  a 
greater. 

The  climax  is  a  growth  toward  the  strong  ^ 
finality  of  the  scene  of  the  most  intense  impor- 
tance in  the  play.  If  there  is  an  irregularity  in 
the  growth,  whereby  a  more  powerful  moment, 
one  stronger  in  decisive  quality,  intervenes  be- 
fore the  strong  close  of  the  scene,  there  arises 
an  anti-climax.  It  must  be  noted  that  mus- 
cular action  or  other  mere  animation  does  not 
make  the  preceding  moment  the  more  powerful. 
Sardou  and  Dumas  have  taught  the  wholesome 
lesson  that  a  climax  does  not  necessarily  require 
explosive  material.  Observe  the  quiet  climax 
of  "Daniel  Rochat." 

The   climax    of   a   play   is   a   turning-point. 
Whether  or  not  it  shall  be  a  thrilling  situation 
depends  upon  the  material.     In  melodramas  the  ,  i 
climax  is  worked  up  to  with  great  solicitude; 
character  is  added  to  character,  and  so  on. 

Again,  the  climax  of  a  play  is  simply  its  most 
important  situation.      It  is  marked  by  suspense    (^ 
and  quickened  expectation,  sympathy  and  ex- 
pectation leaping  out  to  meet  the  acted  event 
like  an  electric  spark.     The  situation  being  pre- 


IO4          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

pared  for,  the  question  is  how  to  hold  the  sus- 
pense. The  scene  cannot  last  long,  and  is  often 
-explosive  in  its  suddenness.  In  either  event  it 
is  effective  in  proportion  to  the  preparation.  It 
^  is  the  point  to  which  all  has  tended,  as  the  duel 
in  "The  Corsican  Brothers."  In  this  case  the 
situation  is  long  foreseen.  In  "  Under  the  Gas- 
light "  there  could  not  be  any  anticipation  of 
such  an  incident  as  the  tying  of  Sharky  by  Byke 
to  the  track  of  the  railroad  and  his  rescue  by 
Laura;  but  it  is  all  probable  in  its  dramatic 
relations.  In  the  scene  itself  the  work  of  detail 
and  preparation  is  admirably  done.  In  order  to 
have  suspense  there  must  be  doubt  and  danger. 
It  is  a  culmination  of  all  the  causes  of  suspense. 
A  strong  situation  of  suspense  is  in  the  last  act 
of  "Damon  and  Pythias,"  where  Damon  is 
awaited  by  Pythias  on  the  scaffold;  and  the 
suspense  is  held  as  the  time  is  noted  before  the 
execution — six  minutes  left — then  two — and 
then  one !  In  the  final  scene  in  "  The  Lady  of 
Lyons,"  the  climax  of  the  act,  the  crisis  of  the 
play,  we  see  a  conflict  of  emotion  and  suspense 
in  the  incidents  of  the  hurried  action.  We  are 
told  that  Pauline  is  to  marry  Beausant;  then 
her  own  feeling  in  the  matter  is  revealed ;  then 
we  see  that  the  sacrifice  is  needed  to  save  her 
father,  etc.  We  note  reason  in  every  step. 


The  Division  into  Acts.  105 

There  must  be  expressed  cause  for  retardation, 
and  proof  must  be  given  of  every  motive. 

The  climax  being  a  crisis,  or  moment  of 
doubt,  it  is  not  entirely  satisfactory  in  a  book  of 
technique  to  fix  it  after  the  arbitrary  models  of 
custom.  There  may  be  many  critical  moments 
of  doubt.  There  is  no  exact  middle  of  a  play, 
but  the  climax  is  at  the  end  of  the  beginning 
and  at  the  beginning  of  the  end,  wherever  that 
point  may  be. 

X  4.  The  denouement  follows.  The  way  and 
the  resources  for  clearing  up  the  action  are 
prepared  here.  The  second  and  third  acts 
were  filled  with  obstacles;  the  solution  now 
begins. 

Again  it  may  be  repeated  that  the  end  of  the 
play — its  third  division — includes  the  denoue- 
ment and  all  that  lies  between  it  and  the  catas- 
trophe. This  arrangement  of  a  fourth  partition 
or  act  is  a  convenience  in  the  production  of 
effects,  and  is  here  used  as  a  convenience  in  the 
discussion  of  construction.  Everything  in  the 
action  heretofore  has  led  up  to  the  climax,  to 
the  supreme  crisis  of  the  drama,  leaving  j-et 
room,  perhaps,  for  other  effort.  The  person  or 
persons  of  commanding  interest  have  been 
placed  in  a  position  of  peril — and  peril  is  the 
proper  term,  sufficiently  descriptive  in  comedy 


1 06          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

as  in  pieces  of  more  serious  import — and  we 
must  now  restore  them  to  their  first  interest  or 
dash  their  hopes  to  the  logical  ending  of  the 
action.  The  conditions  of  the  plot  are  about 
to  be  fulfilled. 

In  bringing  about  the  end  there  must  be  no 
lack  of  vigor,  of  intensity,  of  interest,  of  sus- 
pense. If  it  be  done  too  suddenly,  the  vitality 
goes.  It  is  possible  for  an  author  to  mistake 
the  real  crisis  of  his  material.  We  may  imagine 
a  writer,  inappreciative  of  the  possibilities  that 
lie  in  "  Daniel  Rochat,"  completing  his  action 
with  what  is  with  Sardou  his  climax  at  the  end 
of  the  third  act.  The  two  lovers  practically 
separate  at  that  point  on  the  issue  of  civil  or  re- 
ligious marriage.  In  point  of  fact  the  strongest 
scene  is  in  the  act  of  denouement,  the  fourth. 
Daniel  visits  the  apartment  of  Leah  at  night, 
and  Leah's  struggle  of  passion  and  the  medita- 
tion that  comes  after  it  clearly  lead  away  from 
the  consummation  of  marriage.  There  is,  of 
/course,  always  doubt  about  her  resolution,  but 
an  unseen  fact  has  been  established  with  all  the 
intensity  and  interest  of  this  act ;  it  is  a  prepara- 
tion for  the  end.  Up  to  the  climax  and  its  cri- 
sis, all  tended  toward  the  union,  afterwards  all 
worked  for  the  separation.  If  love  held  its  way 
strenuously  at  first,  so  it  existed  in  the  denoue- 


The  Division  into  Acts.  107 

ment,  but  the  new  element  of  doubt  and  the 
means  of  dissolution  overcame  it. 

Certainly  no  new  facts  and  fresh  devices  that 
are  not  referable  to  the  past  action  enter  into 
this  part  of  the  play.  New  characters  may 
be  required,  but  their  scope  of  action  is  nar- 
rower. There  is  a  touch  of  finality  about  them 
all.  In  the  beginning  promise  of  character  and 
action  marked  every  step ;  here,  while  expec-  *) 
tation  is  an  element  the  horizon  closes  down.  £ 
Change  of  relative  position  so  distinguished  in 
the  progress  up  to  the  climax  proceeds,  but  on 
other  lines.  When  Lady  Macbeth  walks  in  her 
sleep  and  reveals  her  madness  we  know  that  the 
springs  of  action  in  the  play,  at  least  from  this 
side,  are  available  no  more.  One  by  one  the 
hopes  of  Macbeth,  based  on  prophecy,  are 
destroyed.  Strong  effects,  elevation  of  the 
scenes,  striking  situations,  emotion,  animation — 
all  things  that  enter  into  the  vigor  of  a  play  have 
room  here,  but  they  must  count  for  solution.  I 
Retardation  was  a  charm  of  the  upward  action  ;^ 
it  is  now  a  charm  of  the  downward.  The  un- 
skilled author  is  tempted  at  this  point  and  later 
on  to  substitute  explanation  and  description  for 
action ;  but  progressive  movement  is  as  essen- 
tial here  as  anywhere.  Large  effects  and  large 
traits  are  required. 


io8          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

In  some  plays  that  are  constructed  with  ap- 
parent precision  of  technique  the  interest  ceases 
before  the  end.  This  is  the  case  with  "A 
Parisian  Romance. "  By  an  accident  of  good 
acting,  Baron  Chevrial,  the  roue,  a  remarkable 
study  of  character,  engages  the  entire  attention, 
and  we  care  little  or  nothing  for  the  return  home 
of  the  erring  and  repentant  wife  of  another  fig- 
ure in  the  play.  This  "  defect  defective  "  is  not 
in  this  or  in  any  other  case  always  past  cure, 
but  it  is  for  author,  actor,  and  manager  to  de- 
termine if  they  and  the  public  wish  to  sacrifice 
proportion  to  certain  effects.  In  this  particular 
case  it  was  the  genius  of  Richard  Mansfield  that 
was  superior  to  the  play. 

\J  The  end  of  the  scene  or  act  of  denouement  is 
always  some  fact  that  promises  the  catastrophe. 
In  the  third  and  last  act  of  "  The  Courier  of 
Lyons  "  this  point  of  the  denouement  is  where 
Jeanne,  the  outraged  and  abandoned  wife  of 
Dubosc,  determines  to  save  Lesurques  by  re- 
vealing the  hiding-place  of  Dubosc.  She  speaks 
with  Daubenton,  the  magistrate : 

Jeanne.  But  I  will  save  him  or  avenge  him. 
Daubenton.  Do  you  know  where  Dubosc  is? 
Jeanne.  Follow  me! 

Somewhere  between  the  beginning  of  the 
denouement  and  the  catastrophe  there  is  often 


The  Division  into  Acts.  109 

a  moment  of  reaction — not  merely  of  suspense, 
but  of  heightened  hope ;  such  as  an  attempted 
or  suggested  rescue  or  escape,  as  in  "  The  Two 
Orphans  "  ;  but  this  may  be  reckoned  as  a  device 
under  the  general  rule  of  retardation  of  the 
action. 

/5.  The  catastrophe,  or,  to  use  a  less  tech- 
nical term,  the  conclusion,  is  effected  by  the 
gradual  process  of  the  last  act,  or  by  that  part 
of  a  play,  divided  or  undivided,  that  corresponds 
to  it. 

This  conclusion  can  never  be  a  mere  artifi- 
ciality. It  is  the  logical  result  of  all  that  has 
preceded  it.  It  is  organic  and  must  be  final. 
It  is  an  end  of  the  action,  or  it  is  nothing. 
Every  question  suggested  by  the  play  is  an* 
swered  rightly  in  it  as  to  the  past  and  the  pos- 
sible future  of  the  persons  in  it.  The  deeper  the 
emotion  aroused  by  the  actor,  the  more  impor- 
tant the  subject,  the  more  interesting  the  plot, 
the  more  definite,  if  any  qualification  is  at  all 
possible,  will  be  the  result,  the  impression,  or 
the  conviction  of  mind.  To  deviate  from  the 
logical  result  is  to  destroy  at  one  blow  all  unity, 
to  extinguish  at  one  breath  the  vital  spark  of 
all.  To  map  out  a  new  life  or  to  suggest  a  new 
story  on  new  lines  is  woful  waste.  Bad  art  and; 
false  sentimentality  are  poor  counselors. 


no          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

The  question  of  treatment  is  very  important 
here.  The  author  is  no  longer  in  doubt.  His 
work  is  over  except  to  impress  the  ending. 
Words  must  needs  be  few,  and  yet  he  must  not 
be  too  abrupt.  Controversy  is  over,  and  the 
author's  heart  and  mind  and  skill  are  called  upon 
to  give  the  touch  of  farewell  before  committing 
this  emotion  in  its  entirety  to  the  people. 

The  catastrophe  should  not  be  a  surprise,  just 
as  it  should  not  be  abrupt.  There  is  a  prepara- 
<  tion  in  every  movement  of  the  drama.  The 
more  powerful  the  impression,  let  us  say  by  way 
of  illustration,  of  a  tragic  fate,  the  more  dis- 
tinctly should  its  shadow  fall  backward  in  the 
action.  Note  how  Shaksperfc  in  "  Julius  Caesar," 
in  something  like  a  pause  in  the  action,  in  a 
most  beautiful  episode,  has  the  ghost  of  Caesar 
appear  to  Brutus,  in  the  solitude  of  his  tent  at 
midnight,  before  the  battle  of  Philippi.  In 
"  Richard  III."  it  is  the  same  token  of  the  cer- 
tain future.  Romeo  kills  Paris  before  Juliet's 
tomb  that  we  may  feel  the  pitiless  end  that 
approaches. 

The  happenings  here  should  be  organic. 
Accident  is  no  part  of  thoroughly  dramatic 
material.  It  is  a  refuge  and  a  device.  It  can- 
not be  outlawed,  for  it  sometimes  serves  a  pur- 
pose, as  when  the  accidental  discharge  of  * 
pistol  slays  the  villain,  or  the  rich  uncle  come* 


The  Division  into  Acts.  1 1 1 

home  from  India  in  the  nick  of  time,  or,  as  in 
"  The  Rent  Day,"  when  the  saving  cash  drops 
out  of  the  back  of  a  chair  that  is  broken. 

In  the  cases  cited  there  may  be  a  connec- 
tion with  the  action,  slight  but  sufficient.  The 
question  of  probability  has  most  to  do  with  the 
dramatic  value  of  accident.  It  is  always  sus- 
picious and  generally  faulty. 

A  play  is  really  ended  the  moment  interest 
and  curiosity  cease.  As  long  as  they  hold,  the 
author  keeps  his  mastery.  It  is  a  bad  denoue- 
ment when  long  speeches  are  necessary  to  tell  the 
persons  of  the  play  of  happenings  that  the  spec- 
tators already  know  of.  The  actors  should  be 
in  a  position  not  to  inconvenience  the  audience. 

The  end  of  a  play  is  always  a  change  of  con- 
dition for  the  principal  personages — it  is  from 
trouble  to  tranquillity;  from  unhappiness  to 
happiness,  and  the  like  contrasts.  It  is  final. 

The  end  must  not  be  too  sudden.  It  is  sub- 
ject, and  with  particular  force,  to  the  general 
law  of  gradation  of  effect.  It  must  be  in  pro- 
portion with  cause  and  effect.  It  must  afford  a 
commanding  point  where  the  whole  action  may 
be  recalled.  The  idea  must  dominate  here  as  in 
a  musical  composition.  It  must  come  to  a  full 
stop.  All  doubts  must  disappear.  An  earth- 
quake in  itself  and  by  itself  could  not  rightly 
end  a  play.  The  end  must  be  organic. 


CHAPTER  V. 

THE   SCENES   AND   PRINCIPLES   OF   ACTION. 

SCENES  are  of  two  kinds:  (i)  the  painted 
picture ;  (2)  what  takes  place. 

As  already  set  forth,  each  act  has  its  special 
function,  and  has  a  distinctness  and  a  relative 
completeness  of  its  own.  An  act  is  made  up  of 
scenes,  just  as  the  play  is  made  up  of  the  acts, 
and  these  scenes  have  a  similar  significance  and 
definiteness  of  their  own ;  but  in  the  sequence 
of  the  onward  movement  they  admit  of  no 
pause.  If  it  be  taken  as  an  illustration  and  not 
altogether  as  a  law,  the  closeness  of  the  parts 
may  be  represented  thus:  First  act;  second 
act;  third  act:  fourth  act;  fifth  act.  That  ;s 
to  say,  semicolon,  colon,  and  full  stop,  with  the 
comma  between  the  scenes.  The  play,  the  acts, 
the  scenes,  are  built  up  by  a  succession  of  sig- 
nificant movements  and  motives  and  bits  of  ex- 
pression, and  all,  to  the  smallest  particle,  must 
have  definite  purpose.  All  scenes  are  incidents 
leading  up  to  a  main  incident.  It  is  astonishing 
how  small  a  touch,  how  momentary  a  flash  of 

112 


The  Scenes  and  Principles  of  Action.    1 13 

character,  or  what  not,  may  have  a  value  that  is 
to  be  measured  by  its  quality  alone ;  and,  again, 
time  may  be  required  for  the  impression. 

To  begin,  then,  with  a  broad  statement:  a 
scene  is  not  a  scene  unless  it  accomplishes  some- 
thing toward  the  general  result.  The  impression 
made  by  a  scene  may  be  very  strong  of  itself, 
very  beautiful,  very  pathetic,  very  comical,  but 
if  it  does  not  belong  in  every  fiber  to  the  action, 
dramatic  law  has  no  pardon  for  it.  It  must, 
moreover,  be  in  its  sequence ;  so  that  the  mere 
division  of  an  act  into  scenes  is  of  no  more  avail 
than  the  mere  division  of  a  play  into  acts.  It 
also  follows  that  the  length  of  a  scene  is  deter- 
mined by  its  purpose  and  effect.  An  act  may 
be  composed  of  one  scene  or  a  dozen  scenes. 
They  are  the  dramatic  mosaics  that  enter  into 
the  picture,  the  portions  out  of  which  the  poet 
hammers  together  his  action.  This  distinctness 
sometimes  enables  a  writer  to  begin  his  com- 
position with  one  of  these  completed  parts. 
His  fire  may  be  kindled  at  such  a  point.  It  is 
by  these  steps  that  he  proceeds,  through  these 
dramatic  movements  that  his  spirit  works.  This 
does  not  imply  that  a  play  may  not  be  built  in 
the  order  of  its  final  shape,  but  it  does  mean  that 
dramatic  authorship  is  construction  and  not  off- 
hand writing. 


U4          The  technique  of  the  Drama. 

The  dramatist  is  first  sure  of  his  general  play 
and  of  what  is  needed  for  each  act.  The  true 
author's  imagination  is  not  restricted  by  the 
stage  in  his  formative  meditations,  meditations 
that  create  the  play ;  but  when  he  arrives  at  the 
scenes  it  is  a  question  of  detail,  and  with  a  firm 
touch  he  can  work  out  each  scene,  can  rest,  de- 
liberate, choose,  reject,  and  determine  length  and 
value  with  precision.  It  is  here  that  a  secret 
pleasure  is  his  portion,  for  the  play  takes  on  its 
true  proportions.  It  begins  to  breathe.  The 
scene  under  the  author's  hand  assumes  a  func- 
tion known  only  to  him,  and  in  the  perform- 
ance will  have  its  best  effect  when  it  again  visits 
the  spectator's  quick  and  sympathetic  memory 
some  stages  on.  The  author  feels  the  power  of 
his  machinery.  With  every  stroke  he  makes  an 
impression,  and  it  is  particularly  in  the  early 
part  of  a  play  that  a  scene  may  embody  char- 
acter, facts,  and  purpose,  their  specific  use  a 
pleasurable  surmise  to  the  spectator,  and  under 
the  absolute  control  of  the  dramatist. 

He  forges  the  chain  of  events  in  the  way  that 
shall  best  present  what  the  act  in  hand  requires 
and  what  best  binds  the  acts  past  and  to  come. 

What  is  to  be  acted  and  what  may  be  told 
is  of  importance.  Indeed,  in  the  exigencies  of 
dramatic  economy  some  one  thing  may  be  left 


The  Scenes  and  Principles  of  Action.    1 1 5 

to  the  voice  and  the  manner  of  the  actor,  just 
as  to  the  scenery,  and  to  the  intelligent,  active 
thought  of  the  spectators  no  little  can  be  con- 
fided. It  is  certain  that  a  cause  of  action  or  of 
suffering,  if  our  sympathies  or  understanding 
must  have  some  proof,  cannot  be  placed  in 
words  only. 

The  scenes  that  prove  that  Jean  Renaud,  in 
"A  Celebrated  Case,"  is  an  innocent  convict, 
are  imperative.  On  the  other  hand,  in  an 
adaptation  of  "  Martyr,'*  by  the  same  author, 
D'Ennery,  a  prologue  is  prefixed  in  order  to 
show  that  the  Italian  adventurer  and  his  sister 
are  miserable  creatures  of  degraded  and  pen- 
niless origin  —  absolutely  unnecessary  to  the 
last  letter  and  dot,  for  the  simple  fact  that 
they  were  adventurers  was  entirely  sufficient. 
Their  doings  in  the  story  were  proof  of  that. 
Where  we  expect  a  certain  event  in  a  play  to 
happen,  where  it  must  have  happened  by  all 
the  logic  of  the  action,  and  where  to  witness  it 
would  only  delay  the  progress,  it  may  be  told  in 
words.  The  messenger  from  the  battlefield  is 
an  old  friend  by  adoption  from  the  Greek  drama. 
Thus  in  "Richelieu/'  Scene  I,  Act  III.,  Fran- 
cois relates  stirring  and  vital  happenings  to  the 
Cardinal.  The  dramatic  quality  of  the  situation 
has  much  to  do  with  it,  as  where  in  "  The 


n6          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

\ 

Daughter  of  Roland  "  Marie  describes  the  battle 
from  her  outlook  at  the  casement.  It  is  in  the 
apparently  small  things  that  doubt  and  danger 
arise.  Even  where  the  fact  is  to  be  put  into 
evidence  by  action,  it  remains  to  determine  the 
effect.  In  point  of  time  a  moment  may  be 
enough ;  and  again  it  must  be  urged  by  various 
devices  to  the  point  of  absolute  impression  and 
conviction.  You  may  have  to  justify,  qualify, 
elaborate,  or  restrict  it — in  order  to  get  propor- 
tions, or  to  provide  motives  and  effects  present 
and  future.  Peril  must  be  augmented  here; 
character  developed  there.  This  must  be  done, 
not  only  for  clearness,  in  order  to  destroy  pos- 
sible doubt  or  misapprehension,  or  no  apprehen- 
sion at  all,  but  to  supply  interest.  The  links  of 
the  chain  must  not  be  defective  anywhere. 

The  thing  told  differs,  or  may  differ,  from  the 
same  thing  represented.  In  the  one  case  you 
deal  with  the  imagination  of  people  of  varying 
powers ;  in  the  other  you  reduce  it  to  a  com- 
mon denominator.  Instead  of  fancy  you  have 
fact.  Your  dramatic  incident  belongs  to  you  if 
acted.  If  acted,  it  is  like  putting  your  evidence 
before  the  court.  But  this  needed  fact  may 
best  be  remembered  by  the  ear,  the  reason,  the 
eye,  or  the  sympathies.  It  is  safe  to  say  that 
a  play  should  be  intelligible  to  a  spectator  ex- 


The  Scenes  and  Principles  of  Action.    117 

elusive  of  the  words ;  consequently  we  must  as- 
sign the  very  first  importance  to  the  visible  part 
of  a  drama.  The  gist  of  it  is,  that  wherever 
possible  and  proper,  physical  expression  should 
be  given  to  an  idea.  Symbolize  all  matters  of 
importance.  The  drama  is  made  up  of  picture 
and  text. 

4 

A  writer  is  often  misled  by  a  scene  that 
touches  him.  He  is  loth  to  relinquish  it.  It  is 
mastery  over  one's  personal  fancies  of  this  kind 
that  is  the  best  strength  and  safeguard  of  the 
dramatist.  Mr.  Bronson  Howard  relates  a  curi- 
ous experience  with  his  "  Banker's  Daughter," 
known  in  England  as  "  The  Old  Love  and  the 
New."  Changes  had  been  made  in  the  version 
of  "  Lilian's  Last  Love,"  the  original  of  the  play, 
but  a  scene  had  been  retained  at  the  end  of  the 
second  act,  a  little  girl  in  its  mother's  arms,  and 
the  tempter  bowing  his  head  in  the  presence  of 
innocence.  Something  seemed  to  be  wrong  in 
the  effect.  Its  accustomed  touch  was  not  in  it. 
It  was  not  until  the  nineteenth  rehearsal  at  the 
Union  Square  Theatre,  New  York,  under  Mr.  A. 
M.  Palmer's  direction,  that  the  scene  was  entirely 
omitted.  Under  the  alterations  the  child  and 
the  scene  had  lost  their  dramatic  functions.  It  is 
easy  enough  to  be  beguiled  by  a  scene,  but  in  the 
end  the  scene  and  the  play  alike  may  lose  value. 


ii8          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

The  moment  a  case  is  proved  it  is  enough — . 
be  it  by  scene  or  act. 

Action  requires  everything  that  is  expressed 
in  the  text  to  be  entirely  pertinent,  and  that  this 
is  so  may  be  illustrated  and  proved  by  its  corol- 
lary that  all  acting  must  express  the  text  or  sit- 
uation only.  It  is  not  permissible  for  an  actor 
to  do  unnecessary  things.  An  actress  has  a  rose 
in  her  hand,  for  example.  If  she  throws  it  aside 
without  reason,  she  expresses  something.  She 
has  no  right  to  express  a  thing  that  does  not 
belong  to  the  part. 

The  purpose  of  a  scene  being  fixed,  the  com- 
position of  the  scene  should  be  severely  governed 
by  it.  This  would  seem  to  be  an  easy  matter, 
but  the  dramatic  writer  of  small  experience  is 
misled  by  the  ease  with  which  he  can  manufac- 
ture conversation.  Talk  by  the  yard  may  be 
spun  out,  and  it  may  be  witty,  characteristic, 
and  even  "  dramatic,"  and  yet  not  be  to  the 
purpose,  or  have  relative  value.  To  leave  the 
mere  writing  of  the  scene  to  the  last,  until  every 
detail  of  action  has  been  mapped  out  and  pro- 
portioned, is  a  helpful  curb  to  the  facile  pen. 

As  an  example  of  purpose  in  scenes  note 
"The  Honeymoon."  At  the  close  of  an  act 
will  be  observed  a  short  scene  in  which,  at  a 
rustic  dance,  the  Duke  and  Julia  appear.  It 


The  Scenes  and  Principles  of  Action.    119 

serves  to  recall  the  flow  of  the  story,  as  they  had 
been  absent  from  the  stage  for  a  while.  "  The 
Honeymoon"  is  a  play  that  defies  the  common 
rules  of  dramatic  construction;  but  it  is  amply 
clear,  and  the  saving  force  of  device  is  to  be 
seen  in  the  case  cited. 

A  scene  being  distinct  from  other  scenes, 
except  as  it  prepares  for  them,  or  grows  out  of 
them,  it  has  a  structure  of  its  own,  reproducing 
in  smaller  degrees  the  technique  of  play  and  act, 
such  as  beginning,  middle,  and,  in  so  far  as  is 
possible  in  a  continuing  action,  an  end. 

It  might  seem  that  the  principles  set  forth 
herein  had  small  part  in  a  play  like  "  The  Old 
Homestead,"  by  Mr.  Denman  Thompson  and 
Mr.  George  W.  Ryer,  which  ran  for  more  than 
three  years  at  the  largest  theatre  in  New  York 
City;  but  it  is  not  so.  It  has  been  said  that 
this  simple  drama,  with  its  many  characters 
introduced  by  apparent  chance,  and  with  its 
meagre  plot,  is  no  drama  at  all.  If  it  be  not  a 
drama,  then  it  has  established  a  new  set  of  prin- 
ciples, for  it  appeals  to  the  universal  heart.  In 
point  of  fact,  there  are  dramas  of  many  kinds, 
evolved  from  various  intents.  The  plot  of  "  The 
Old  Homestead  "  is  perfectly  clear  and  consist- 
ent and  entirely  dramatic.  Its  unity  is  the  ever 
present  glorification  of  rural  simplicity. 


I2O          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

Surely  the  parable  of  the  Prodigal  Son  is  a 
drama,  and  old  Joshua  Whitcomb's  search  in  the 
city  for  his  boy  is  a  variation  of  it.  "  The  Old 
Homestead  "  knows  nothing  of  complication  of 
'  plot ;  nor  should  it.  It  is  a  play  of  character 
and  local  color,  slow  but  accurate  in  movement, 
with  purpose  in  every  part  of  it;  organic  all 
the  way  through.  The  proof  of  it  is  the  sus- 
tained interest.  The  so-called  farce-comedies 
are  dramas,  by  courtesy,  in  the  fewest  instances. 
They  are  invariably  wearisome  in  passages. 

It  has  been  a  traditional  rule  of  the  stage,  that 
a  tableau  in  the  beginning  and  course  of  the 
action  is  not  permissible.  It  is  related  that 
Bunn,  the  manager  of  Drury  Lane,  refused, 
greatly  to  the  rage  of  the  wonderful  scene- 
painter  Stansfield,  to  allow  the  stage  to  remain 
unoccupied  for  a  space,  to  permit  the  audience 
to  admire  a  certain  scene  after  the  rise  of  the 
curtain.  Bunn  was  right.  Scenery  does,  how- 
ever, sustain  a  part  in  the  technique  of  mod- 
ern plays  that  requires  frank  recognition;  but 
scenery  must  always  be  accompanied  by  action 
or  human  expression.  Pantomime  is  drama. 
Henry  Irving,  in  his  production  of  "  Faust/' 
exemplified  this  by  his  demoniacal  scene  on 
the  top  of  the  Brocken  and  the  passing  of  the 
villagers  across  the  square  to  the  cathedral. 


The  Scenes  and  Principles  of  Action.    121 

That  the  stage  should  never  be  vacant  is  another 
old  tradition,  but  it  may  certainly  be  filled  with 
a  pause  of  suspense. 

By  the  French  custom,  which  is  a  good  work- 
ing one,  the  coming  and  going  of  a  person,  ser- 
vants and  mere  figures  excepted,  begins  and 
ends  a  scene ;  not  because  the  coming  and  going 
so  happens,  but  because  the  action  is  thereby 
developed  by  bits  of  progress.  To  the  manager 
and  the  actor  such  divisions  give  the  scope  of 
each  role.  The  scene  belongs  to  one  actor  or 
more,  and  it  is  proper  for  artistic  endeavor,  as 
well  as  effect,  that  the  actor  should  have  definite 
opportunities.  Such  a  scene  may  accomplish 
more  than  one  purpose.  In  "A  Scrap  of  Paper," 
for  example,  the  early  scene  between  Anatole 
and  Mathilde  gives  character  and  the  relations 
between  the  two,  and  thereafter  we  expect  of 
them  merry  banter. 

The  most  important  part  of  a  play,  for  it  is 
the  greater  part,  is  carried  on  in  dialogue,  with 
usually  but  two  on  the  stage.  The  object  is  to 
bring  about  a  contributory  result  by  the  oppos- 
ing or  the  consenting  wills.  The  dialogue  seeks 
to  convince,  to  prevail  on,  and  to  further  the 
action.  It  is  not  mere  argument  as  in  ordi- 
nary life,  when  the  disputants  part  after  con- 
vincing themselves  only.  It  must  have  purpose, 


122  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

and,  sooner  or  later,  result.  The  scene  should 
not  leave  the  persons  in  the  same  relative  posi- 
tion. Dramatic  action  cannot  be  disposed  of  by 
blunt  and  sudden  agreements. 

Approach  to  agreement,  then  divergence  from, 
with  variations  of  emotion,  mark  the  dramatic 
process.  The  trend  of  action  is  forward,  but 
indirectness  and  retardation  are  of  the  essence 
of  dramatic  scenes.  The  drama  could  not  exist 
without  the  expression  of  this  delaying  thought 
and  growth  of  resolve.  Note  the  talks  of  Brutus 
and  Cassius  and  the  conspirators. 

By  these  variations  suspense  is  supplied,  and 
the  inner  emotions  are  brought  to  view.  Un- 
necessary zigzags  of  purpose  and  action  are  as 
false  as  the  right  process  is  true.  Many  scenes 
are  by  necessity  dialogues ;  and  the  presence  of 
others  has  a  disturbing  effect.  If  the  scene  has 
a  moving  part  in  the  future  action,  it  certainly 
makes  a  party  of  the  listener  to  that  action.  It 
piles  up  a  burden  of  necessities.  Singularly 
enough  in  a  pretentiously  acted  version  of 
" Antony  and  Cleopatra"  the  royal  lovers  were 
at  no  time  alone. 

Dramatic  dialogue  is  the  art  of  conducting 
action  by  discourse.  Like  every  other  particle 
in  the  dramatic  structure,  it  must  be  shaped  ac- 
cording to  the  laws.  It  must  be  organic;  but 


The  Scenes  and  Principles  of  Action.    1 23 

that  is  not  enough.  Proportion  to  purpose  is  its 
chief  requirement.  It  must  advance  the  action 
or  establish  some  fact,  just  as  the  author's  design 
may  be,  and  only  a  certain  time  can  be  given  to 
it.  It  should  be  suitable  to  character  in  thought 
and  dialect,  and  with  reference  to  the  relations 
between  the  people  of  the  play.  It  is  possible 
that  on  exalted  occasions,  when  men  act  with 
formality  toward  each  other,  that  they  make  set 
speeches,  but  the  rule  of  life  is  that  great  variety 
marks  dialogue.  Contrast  of  thought  is  its  great 
stimulus.  It  is  carried  on  not  by  words  alone, 
but  look  and  gesture  of  consent,  dissent,  surprise, 
and  the  like ;  and  indeed,  the  response  by  in- 
terjection and  manner  is  essential  to  animation. 
Thus  we  often  see  in  a  printed  drama  such  a  line 
as,  "  I  see  you  start,"  "  The  blush  comes  to  your 
cheek/*  "You  turn  your  head,"  etc.  Such 
actions  are  answers.  If  there  is  not  obvious 
interest  in  the  dialogue  between  the  persons  of 
the  scene,  it  is  because  the  author  is  directing 
his  talk  to  the  audience.  Dialogue — the  main- 
stay of  the  old  Greek  drama — contains  the 
essence  of  the  drama,  for  it  includes  mute  ex- 
pression as  before  indicated.  Dialogue  between 
two  gets  over  ground  rapidly ;  and,  in  a  general 
way,  the  greater  the  number  concerned  in  the 
scene,  the  slower  the  action — something  to  be 


124  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

considered  in  getting  the  proportions  of  time. 
The  action  of  a  play  is  not  always  physical. 
Two  persons  seated  can  carry  on  a  drama. 
Nothing  need  "  happen  "  in  the  scene. 

That  which  a  person  in  a  drama  may  say  is 
governed  by  his  character  and  by  his  relations 
to  the  other  figures  and  the  action.  He  should 
at  least  not  speak  contrary  to  character.  He 
must  not  talk  for  the  sake  of  talk  or  as  a  repre- 
sentative of  the  author.  His  talk  must  have  its 
bearings.  Some  of  it  that  does  not  go  to  the 
action  proper,  and  which,  in  consequence,  could 
be  omitted  in  that  relation,  is  used  by  the  skilled 
writer  to  convey  local  color,  character,  gayety 
needed  at  the  moment,  diversion,  and  so  on.  In 
short,  talk  is  limited  by  purpose  and  effect  only. 

Conversation  is  a  play  on  the  emotions  of 
actor  (and  spectator),  and  displays  the  motives 
of  the  characters ;  it  recalls  and  suggests ;  it 
binds  and  urges  on  the  action.  It  must  not  be 
a  mere  firing  in  the  air,  however  full  of  charac- 
ter. It  must  deepen  impressions,  or  have  a 
purpose,  or  interest  us  in  something  connected 
with  the  play. 

A  character  or  play  is  described  as  /'too 
talky "  when  conversation  interferes  with  the 
action.  Talk  can  be  the  life  of  a  drama.  Sardou 
and  Dumas  are  exceedingly  "  talky/'  if  meas- 


The  Scene*  and  Principles  of  Action.    125 

ured  by  the  long  stretches  of  discourse  assigned 
to  individuals.  See  their  plays  generally.  Note 
how  much  space  is  given  to  Rochat's  own  ac- 
count of  his  meeting  with  Leah  in  traveling.  In 
"A  Scrap  of  Paper,"  Prosper  has  a  great  deal 
to  say  in  a  little  descriptive  talk  of  the  savages 
as  compared  with  civilized  people.  Purpose  is 
bound  up  in  every  line  of  it.  His  room,  which 
we  see  in  Act  II.,  is  rilled  with  collected  curios, 
and  it  excuses  the  presence  there  of  Suzanne. 
It  has  a  great  deal  to  do,  besides  furnishing 
color,  variety,  etc.  Note  that  there  is  nothing 
of  Sardou  in  it.  It  is  all  Prosper. 

It  may  be  required  to  hold  the  situation  for  a 
while  by  talk,  for  various  reasons,  such  as  to  im- 
press an  emotion  or  motive,  or  for  detail  for  sin- 
cerity or  vraisemblance.  In  a  manner,  you  con- 
ceal intent,  as  in  Act.  II.  of  "Article  47. "  Dr. 
Coombes  says  to  Mazieres,  "  So  I  order  you  to 
rise  early,  take  exercise,  and  do  no  more  gam- 
bling." Now  if  mere  mechanism  would  answer 
and  leave  impressions,  Mazieres  might  say, 
' '  Bah !  I  am  never  idle.  Gambling  is  the  hard- 
est kind  of  work."  But  the  author  had  his 
purposes,  and  so  he  puts  a  large  speech  in  his 
mouth,  "What!  come,  come,  I  am  not  able  to 
lie  idle.  I  must  busy  myself  over  something. 
Gambling  is  mighty  hard  work,  mind  you !  You 


126  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

sit  for  hours  cramped  at  a  table  before  the  same 
lamps,"  etc.  By  such  touches,  absolute  earnest- 
ness and  reality  are  given  to  characters  in  even 
casual  talk. 

Just  as  a  great  deal  of  talk  may  be  required 
at  times,  at  others  none  is  possible.  The  strong- 
est situation  may  be  pantomime. 

See  the  adieu  of  Brutus  to  his  son.  The 
author  leaves  to  the  actor  all  expression  when 
Brutus  is  alone  in  his  chair  looking  the  way  the 
sacrifice  has  been  led  to  death. 

Just  as  the  subject  controls  a  play,  so  the  sit- 
uation may  be  said  to  control  conversation ;  but 
that  situation  or  scene  may  less  concern  the 
mechanics — plot — of  the  play,  than  it  does  char- 
acter, color,  surroundings,  or  some  other  pur- 
pose. It  must  be  within  the  focus  of  the  play. 
It  must  contribute  to  the  illusion. 

It  is  a  false  practice  to  make  allusions  to 
matters  outside  the  atmosphere  of  the  drama. 
Certain  lighter  forms  of  the  stage  are  privileged, 
but  it  is  bad  art  in  plays  of  purpose  and  life- 
illusion.  Racine  and  Corneille  did  not  even 
permit  comparisons.  Shakspore,  however,  is  full 
of  them.  His  drama  is  poetic  enough  to  stand 
against  the  canon.  Allusions  to  things  of  local 
and  temporary  significance  are  at  least  causes  of 
early  antiquity  in  a  play. 


The  Scenes  and  Principles  of  Action.    127 

Asides,  or  remarks  aside,  may  be  used  as  a 
device.  They  are  natural  and  common  enough 
in  life.  They  only  appear  artificial  when  actors 
are  clumsy  in  conducting  a  dialogue  where 
they  serve  to  convey  to  the  spectator  what  is  in 
the  mind  of  the  person  using  them.  They  are 
a  part  of  the  machinery  of  comedy.  An  aside 
when  not  intended  for  the  people  on  the  stage 
should  not  be  observed  by  them.  It  is  some- 
times a  material  part  of  the  action  and  then  its 
observance  affords  such  business  as  may  be  as- 
signed to  it.  The  monologue  is  not  regarded  ' 
with  favor  by  the  French  school  of  dramatists, 
but  it  is  a  useful  device.  In  point  of  fact  in 
some  of  the  French  classical  dramas  the  dia- 
logues are  really  monologues  uttered  in  rivalry. 
The  monologue  is  often  clumsily  used,  but  in 
supreme  moments  it  is  entirely  natural.  Drama 
is  life,  and  men  make  their  most  serious  resolves 
in  solitude  and  alone.  When  this  meditation 
takes  the  form  of  soliloquy,  as  with  Hamlet,  the 
inner  secrets  of  the  soul  are  revealed.  The 
monologues  of  Richelieu  are  highly  effective. 
It  is  a  useful  device  for  direct  movement.  In 
comedy,  and  more  particularly  in  farce,  which  is 
largely  artificial,  the  monologue  is  distinctly 
serviceable.  In  the  more  serious  drama  a  rest- "?, 
ful  point  is  often  reached  by  the  monologue.  / 


128          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

Monologue  should  be  naturally  uttered,  and  not 
as  for  the  information  of  the  audience,  although 
that  is  its  object. 

It  surrenders  to  the  spectator  the  secrets  of 
the  character,  and  it  may  lead  to  an  immediate 
something  in  the  action  by  being  overheard  by 
a  figure  in  the  play.  Thus  the  monologue  is  by 
no  means  a  mere  artificiality.  At  the  same  time 
v  it  should  not  be  used  with  frequency,  and  better 
not  at  all  except  where  the  nature  of  the  case 
is  entirely  favorable.  It  is  obvious  that  as  a 
matter  of  fact  under  certain  conditions  one 
would  not  indulge  in  monologues;  what  he 
would  say  to  himself  in  his  chamber,  he  would 
not  utter  in  the  market-place. 

In  speaking  of  monologue  a  statement  may 
be  made  that  applies  to  all  utterance.  We  only 
know  what  a  person  in  the  play  thinks  by  what 
we  see  in  him  and  hear  from  him,  or  very,  very 
plainly  infer.  He  must  express  himself,  and  at 
the  moment.  Subsequent  explanation  is  not  in 
the  true  method  of  the  drama.  The  sympathy, 
attention,  and  understanding  belong  to  the 
moment.  All  art  is  expression,  and  for  a  char- 
acter to  feel  and  not  express  is  absurd. 

Groups — unknown  to  the  Greek — necessarily 
belong  to  the  modern  drama,  with  its  large  scope 
of  life.  The  presence  of  three  or  more  persons 


The  Scenes  and  Principles  of  Action.    129 

on  the  stage  introduces  at  once  the  picturesque 
element,  and  it  becomes  the  dramatist's  care  to 
give  employment  to  all  these  people.  Much  of 
the  business  for  them  is  commonly  left  to  the 
stage  management,  but  all  the  moving  to  and 
fro,  and  all  the  animation,  should  be  in  the 
author's  mind,  for  pantomime,  as  already  indi- 
cated, has  its  share  in  dramatic  composition. 
The  ensemble  scene,  or  the  group,  has  a  large 
object,  impresses  partly  by  its  picture  and  in- 
volves energy  and  action,  and  commonly  pre- 
pares or  closes  a  situation  that  binds  together 
the  common  action.  The  use  of  masses  is  from 
special  cause  and  not  by  general  rule.  The  dis- 
position and  management  of  the  mobs  and  the 
combats  may  in  its  details  be  left  to  the  practi- 
cal exigencies  of  rehearsal.  In  plays  that  con- 
cern an  uprising  of  the  people,  or  in  historical 
dramas,  masses  are  essential.  Great  political 
things  are  not  done  in  a  corner.  How  to  divide 
masses  into  groups,  how  to  distribute  color  and 
appeal  to  the  eye,  how,  in  short,  to  bring  to 
your  dramatic  product  the  aid  of  all  the  arts,  is 
not  altogether  the  scope  of  this  book.  It  is  true 
that  an  author  should  also  be  equal  to  stage 
management ;  but  he  may  properly  call  on  help 
at  this  point. 

An  episode  is  an  interruption  of  the  action,  or 


130          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

standing  still.  The  episode  must  concern  some 
element  in  the  piece,  or  it  is  a  mere  interruption. 
A  true  episode  cannot  come  from  without.  It 
has  its  uses,  as  where  Brutus,  in  "  Julius  Caesar," 
has  the  boy  to  play  the  harp  for  him  in  his  tent 
in  the  calm  of  the  night  before  the  battle  of  Phar- 
salia.  Denman  Thompson's  "  The  Old  Home- 
stead "  is  made  up  almost  entirely  of  episodes, 
scenes  that  could  be  left  out  without  impairing 
the  action,  such  as  the  marching  along  the  streets 
of  the  band  of  the  Salvation  Army.  An  episode 
may  be  used  for  sentiment,  color,  a  point  of  rest 
in  the  action,  and  for  other  reasons.  It  is  abused 
by  feeble  dramatists  who  have  a  poor  subject,  or 
who  are  unable  to  exploit  a  good  one.  Episodic 
dramas — to  which  class  belong  "  The  Old  Home- 
stead," etc., — have  little  of  the  mathematics  of 
dramatic  art  in  them.  It  is  a  bad  episode  that 
suspends  the  interest  or  that  does  not  permit 
the  action  to  be  resumed  without  a  jog  to  the 
memory  and  the  attention.  The  episode  fre- 
quently causes  disproportion. 

Young  writers  are  misled  by  the  beauty  of  a 
scene.  They  conceive  it  and  are  loth  to  give  it 
up.  It  may  not  be  essential ;  but  as  an  episode 
it  comes  in  to  the  injury  of  the  play,  however 
effective  it  might  be  in  its  right  relations.  The 


The  Scenes  and  Principles  of  Action.    131 

fact  that  it  is  a  beautiful  scene  may  be  the  very 
reason  it  should  not  be  there.  The  gist  of  all 
this  is,  that  the  drama  proper  will  not  suffer  pad- 
ding; and  the  author  will  do  well,  the  moment 
he  finds  himself  disposed  to  pad,  to  question  his 
theme  more  closely.  He  will  find  something 
wrong  either  in  it  or  in  himself. 

The  skilled  writer  goes  so  far  into  detail  that 
he  writes  with  reference  to  the  "  business  "  of 
the  actors.  Business  includes  those  helpful 
doings  that  extend,  modify,  or  illustrate  the 
written  word ;  or,  it  is  added  by  the  author  as 
essential  where  text  is  best  withheld.  Beyond 
a  certain  point  the  author's  business  should  not 
go,  and  beyond  a  certain  other  further  point  it 
cannot  go,  for  the  actor  is  entitled  to  freedom  in 
his  methods  of  expression.  Sardou  pushes  his 
control  of  a  play  to  the  limit.  His  notes  are  not 
mere  suggestions,  but  express  the  definite  will 
of  a  master  of  his  craft. 

And  yet  for  the  young  author  to  worry  him- 
self about  stage  details,  when  he  knows  nothing 
about  them,  is  absurd.  There  is  a  deal  of  in- 
formation that  it  would  be  useless  to  give  in  a 
book  of  this  character.  This  is  a  book  of  prin- 
ciples. The  part  of  the  author  is  the  human 
part,  and  has  primarily  nothing  to  do  with  the 


132          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

flies,  the  "  raking  piece,"  the  "float,"  the  "  back- 
ing," the  "  drop,"  or  with  directions  as  to  "  lights 
full  up,"  "blue  and  white  limes  off  slowly/5 
"  lime-lights  of  blue  medium  on,"  etc.  How 
thunder  is  made,  descriptions  of  the  moon-box, 
the  duties  of  the  advance  agent  and  of  the  man- 
ager, the  functions  of  the  bill-poster  and  the 
mysteries  of  "  three-sheet,"  the  imperturbable 
grimness  of  the  back-door-keeper,  the  peculiari- 
ties of  the  box-office  man,  and  the  like  infor- 
mation, the  man  who  looks  to  principle  in  the 
drama  rejects  as  belonging  to  the  hodge-podge 
of  trivialities  that  some  imagine  to  be  knowl- 
edge. 

An  author  necessarily  leaves  a  large  margin 
of  expression  to  the  actor  and  to  the  stage- man- 
ager. The  play  belongs  to  the  author  up  to  the 
point  of  execution.  Belot,  in  "Article  47,"  gives 
as  a  stage  direction,  "  Cora  opens  her  fan 
calmly."  He  esteemed  this  pantomime  as 
essential  to  his  meaning  as  the  accompanying 
words.  Who  more  competent  to  suggest  the 
"  business"  of  the  play  than  the  author?  It  is 
true  that  an  experienced  stage-manager  under- 
stands that  better  than  the  unpracticed  author ; 
but  it  is  no^common  thing  to  witness  stupidity 
in  this  branch  of  stage  work. 

When  Claudio,  supposed  to  have  been  be- 


The  Scenes  and  Principles  of  Action.    133 

headed,  throws  aside  his  cloak  and  rushes  to  the 
welcoming  arms  of  his  sister  Isabella,  whose 
virtue  had  saved  him,  have  we  not  seen  the 
genius  of  Shal^spere  come  to  naught  because  in 
all  the  brilliant  court  surrounding  the  duke  there 
was  no  air  of  joy,  of  sympathy,  of  suspense  ? 

Ordinarily  the  stage-manager  is  a  supple- 
mental author.  His  first  quality  should  be 
fidelity  to  the  dramatist.  Him  he  represents  in 
the  fullest  sense,  and  should  not  undertake  a 
production  until  he  has  placed  himself  in  entire 
possession  of  the  general  intent  of  the  play  and 
the  remotest  relations  of  all  its  parts.  Identity 
of  sympathy  and  knowledge  can  alone  bring 
about  a  just  result. 

This  point  mastered,  the  stage-manager's  pre- 
liminary duties  begin.  To  state  it  by  practical 
suggestion,  he  has  prepared  a  "  scene  plot," 
which  in  some  cases  is  accompanied  by  models 
for  the  machinist  and  carpenter,  or  drawings  to 
be  followed  by  the  painter,  the  stage  setting  and 
general  arrangements  being  indicated.  He  has 
written  out  a  "property  plot,"  so  that  every 
article  required  may  be  at  hand  in  the  proper 
time,  for  which  his  subordinates  are  responsible. 
He  has  indicated  the  costumes.  He  has  fur- 
nished the  cues  for  the  incidental  music.  The 
gas-man  has  been  instructed  as  to  the  disposi- 


134  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

tion  of  lights.  In  his  prompt-book  every  in- 
cident that  can  be  formulated  has  been  written 
down — all  the  "  business  "  of  crossing,  the  en- 
trances, positions,  and  exits  which  the  actors 
must  follow. 

This  part  of  the  work  finished,  it  remains  to  be 
seen  if  the  stage-manager  can  execute  what  his 
imagination,  sympathies,  and  knowledge  have 
reduced  to  an  almost  mathematical  basis.  If  he 
be  equipped  at  all  points,  his  most  delicate  task 
then  begins.  He  is  governed  largely  by  his 
material.  The  dramatic  art — authorship,  acting, 
and  stage  management — may  be  summed  up 
in  one  definite  and  comprehensive  principle — 
the  production  of  desired  effects,  in  which  there 
must  be  unity  of  purpose  in  the  three  branches 
indicated,  based  on  the  author's  conception. 

Accurate  "  business  "  is  not  to  the  purpose  if 
the  actors,  in  part  or  in  whole,  be  non-conductors 
of  idea.  In  this  case  the  author  suffers,  but  it 
is  possible  to  preserve  the  proportions  of  the 
play  to  a  great  extent  by  accommodating  the 
business  to  the  actor  if  he  cannot  be  bent  to  the 
business. 

The  movements  that  we  see  on  the  stage,  such 
as  crossing  from  one  to  the  other  side,  are  very 
often  intended  not  to  be  specially  significant  at 
the  moment,  but  they  place  the  actors  in  posi- 


The  Scenes  and  Principles  of  Action.    135 

tions  for  more  important  movements — it  may  be 
merely  for  an  exit.  It  is  the  moving  of  figures 
on  a  chess-board  with  a  view  to  decisive  action. 
We  see  this  in  "A  Scrap  of  Paper,"  at  the  end 
of  Act  I.,  where  the  stage  direction  is,  "The 
party  gradually  prepare  to  go  out."  Sardou 
does  not  intend  to  leave  Suzanne  and  Prosper 
alone  when  she  demands  the  compromising 
letter.  The  conversation  is  in  low  tones,  and  the 
woman's  action  is  to  be  delicate,  determined, 
and  piquante,  because  of  the  element  of  danger 
in  the  presence  of  others,  for  the  Baron  in  a 
moment  is  to  turn  with,  "  Are  you  coming,  you 
two?" 

To  rise  and  to  sit  is  not  always  intended 
merely  for  variety  and  movement.  The  effect 
in  emotion  is  expressed  at  times  better  in  one 
way  than  the  other.  In  the  first  interview 
between  Louise  and  Prosper,  her  old  admirer, 
Louise  is  directed  by  Sardou  to  sit  and  take  up 
some  embroidery.  Obviously  that  she  may  halt 
in  the  composure  of  her  work  and  drop  the  frame 
when  she  learns  that  the  letter  written  three 
years  before  wras  never  delivered,  and  suspects 
that  it  may  be  still  in  the  statue  of  Flora.  A 
delicate  and  minute  point  is  thus  gained.  When 
Prosper  rises  in  speaking  of  the  looks  of  the 
room,  it  is  that  his  action  in  going  to  the  statue 


136          Tbe  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

may  not  be  too  sudden.  Action  has  a  gradua- 
tion like  that  on  the  canvas  of  a  painter.  Every 
important  change  of  idea  should  be  accompanied 
by  movement — rising,  crossing,  or  what-not. 

Effects  should  never  be  too  sudden.  The 
audience  must  always  slightly  or  even  fully  be 
in  advance  of  the  action. 

Why  does  Sardou  direct  that  the  shawl  of 
Louise  shall  be  a  "remarkable"  one?  Let  us 
see.  Her  husband,  the  Baron,  is  won  over  in 
the  second  act  from  his  suspicion  by  Suzanne, 
and  he  sits — properly,  for  he  is  composed,  and 
his  next  movement  requires  emphasis — at  the 
table.  He  turns  and  perceives  the  shawl,  and 
again  becomes  violent.  He  should  have  let  his 
hand  wander  over  that  way  unconsciously,  and 
thus  have  directed  the  attention  of  the  audience 
to  what  was  coming. 

The  rightful  importance  of  an  author's  stage 
direction  may  be  seen  in  the  same  play.  When 
the  letter — the  "scrap  of  paper" — is  found, 
Suzanne  is  seated  as  if  asleep,  Prosper  admiring 
her,  and  congratulating  himself  that  the  letter 
is  safe,  when  she  wakes  up,  apparently,  with  a 
sudden  start.  Sardou  directs  that  Suzanne 
watch  him  "  with  the  corner  of  her  eyes." 

Thus  the  audience  enters  into  the  arch  pleas- 
antry of  her  triumph,  and  the  scene  does  not 


The  Scenes  and  Principles  of  Action.    137 

belong  so  much  to  Prosper.     The  audience  must 
always  have  its  share. 

Scenes   of  like   character  should   not  be  re-   > 
peated,  on  account  of  monotony,  and  because  in  '/ 
a  manner  the  action  is  brought  to  a  halt,  and 
similar  devices  should   not    be  used   with  fre- 
quency, such  as  the  reading  of  letters,  etc. ;   but 
in    the   same    scene    distinctness   of    idea   may 
require  the  accent  of  repetition. 

Whatever  is  needed  for  an  effect  it  is  right  to 
do,  but  it  must  not  fall  short  or  be  in  excess. 
Some  effects  cannot  be  accomplished  by  an  out- 
line, but  must  be  minute ;  others  are  sufficiently 
reached  by  suggestion.  It  often  happens  that 
an  incident  in  an  early  part  of  the  play  comes 
into  true  value  later  on  at  a  remote  point.  The 
necessity  of  making  it  impressive  is  obvious.  A  .  p  -j^ 

play  is  like  knitting- — it  has  its  back  stitches.          J 
In  the  dropped  stitch  lies  the  weakness. 

The  degree  of  detail  to  be  given  to  a  scene 
depends  on  the  object  of  the  scene.  It  may  re- 
quire to  be  worked  out  very  minutely.  Again, 
a  suggestion  is  enough.  What  is  in  a  scene 
should  be  essential.  Unnecessary  detail  is 
vicious.  We  want  life,  but  art  must  govern  its 
use.  The  true  idea  is  to  give  as  much  of  life  as 
you  possibly  can. 

A  matter  of  great  importance  to  be  borne  in 


138          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

mind  by  the  author  in  writing  a  scene  is  that  the 
essence  of  the  drama  is  the  present — -the  moment 
of  the  visible,  of  the  physical  acting  and  speaking 
of  the  words  on  the  stage;  and  that  present 
reference  as  it  advances  to  something  that  hap- 
pens within  the  two  hours  or  more  of  the  dura- 
tion of  the  play.  Everything  must  belong  to 
the  action ;  and  any  reference  to  anything  out- 
side of  those  limits  must  have  a  very,  very  strong 
bearing  on  the  actual  problem  in  hand  to  be 
admitted  at  all.  The  past  is  absolutely  nothing 
unless  recited  in  order  to  explain  or  lead  up  to 
something — feeling  or  fact. 

There  should  be  a  sequel  to  every  scene. 
An  instance  in  point  is  when  in  "  Damon  and 
Pythias  "  a  scene  closes  with  Damon  about  to 
hurl  his  slave  to  death  over  the  cliff,  because  he 
had  slain  his  horse  in  order  to  prevent  his  return 
to  his  friend  on  the  scaffold.  In  a  succeeding 
scene  Damon  rushes  on,  saves  his  friend,  but  in 
the  tumult  even  of  the  situation,  he  tells  of  aban- 
doning his  fell  purpose  with  the  slave  as  he  saw 
a  horseman,  and  so  on. 

The  number  of  persons  in  a  scene  affects  its 
use  and  handling.  There  must  be  something 
for  everybody  to  do. 

Scenery  plays  no  small  part  in  the  economy 
of  the  modern  drama.  It  is  well  enough  when 


The  Scenes  and  Principles  of  Action.    139 

the  principle  is  observed  that  the  scenery 
should  be  organic  with  the  play,  and  should 
never  by  imperfection  destroy  illusion.  A  scene 
may  be  imperfect  by  reason  of  over- elaboration. 
It  may  be  imperfect  because  a  mechanical  effect, 
however  ingenious,  may  give  undue  proportion 
to  it.  The  human  interest  in  a  play  recedes  as 
the  scenic  is  pushed  forward  beyond  its  subor- 
dinate limits;  but  there  are  so  many  forms  of 
"  plays "  that  a  limit  is  reached  where  it  is 
pretty  much  all  scenic  display.  The  mechanical 
effect  is  only  for  the  moment.  Scenery  can  only 
be  a  background.  If  the  scenery  is  going  to  do 
the  acting  there  is  small  showing  for  the  human 
element.  It  is  possible  that  great  quantities  of 
scenery  may  serve  for  an  organic  effect,  and  we 
hear  of  productions  like  "  The  Lord  Harry/'  by 
Henry  Arthur  Jones  and  Wilson  Barrett,  that 
require  six  hundred  and  fifty  tons  of  scenery ! 

In  the  face  of  this  possibility,  the  most  power- 
ful of  plays  may  require  the  simplest  of  acces- 
sories. The  rule  that  has  been  given  seems  to 
cover  the  case.  At  all  events  it  shall  save  space 
in  the  matter.  The  unpracticed  writer  demands 
frequent  changes  of  scene.  It  has  been  noted 
that  the  French  dramatists  use  but  one  mechani- 
cal scene  to  the  act,  and  that  the  English  method 
in  good  practice  admits  of  three  by  the  use  of 


140          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

the  front  scene.  It  would  be  the  top  notch  oi 
absurdity  to  have  costly  mechanical  scenes  de- 
voted to  brief  incidents  of  small  moment.  The 
result  would  be  a  phantasmagoria  of  color  or 
inanimate  images,  that  by  their  impression  on 
the  memory  would  confound  all  purpose  of  the 
action.  Limitation  in  the  scenery  is  very  need- 
ful in  every  way.  Again,  let  it  be  repeated,  the 
organic  and  the  effective  are  the  right  of  the 
drama.  If  Hamlet  walks  across  the  snow- 
covered  rampart,  leaving  the  imprint  of  his 
snow-flecked  shoes  in  the  powdery  substance, 
or  the  Ghost  glides  by  without  sound  and  with- 
out token  of  touch,  let  it  be.  Stage  manage- 
ment may  do  much  for  an  author,  but  not  all 
things.  Thousands  can  be,  and  often  are,  spent 
on  a  play  that  is  not  worth  a  penny. 

Everything  in  a  drama  tends  to  the  perfect, 
so  that  no  decorative  or  dramatic  scenic  effect 
should  be  tried  if  it  cannot  be  accomplished  with 
full  effect.  In  that  case  it  may  be  suggested 
subordinately.  It  is  within  the  power  of  stage 
craft  at  this  time  to  respond  to  demands  that 
were  once  not  dreamed  of.  The  falling  in  of 
the  temple  when  the  pillars  are  pulled  down  by 
Samson  in  the  play  used  by  Salvini  could  be 
made  wonderfully  realistic.  The  reverberations 
of  sound,  the  confusion  of  crashing  blocks  of 


The  Scenes  and  Principles  of  Action.    141 

cone,  the  dust  obscuring  the  scene  for  a 
moment,  and  many  horrid  incidents  of  the  tragic 
^.vent  could  be  placed  in  evidence.  Good  things 
have  been  done  in  this  way  of  recent  years.  It 
is  a  matter  of  judgment  and  experience.  Bron- 
son  Howard  in  preparing  the  war  effects  in 
w  Shenandoah "  went  on  the  theory  that  the 
sound  of  combat,  the  distant  roar  of  cannon, 
aided  by  the  suggestion  of  retreating  men  draw- 
ing a  cannon,  their  courage  revived  by  the  dash- 
ing in  of  an  officer  on  horseback,  a  scene  of  sig- 
naling from  a  mountain-top,  and  other  incidents, 
were  better  than  a  visible  conflict. 

He  was  right.  A  French  writer  says  that  a 
ball-room  scene  is  impossible.  Perhaps  a  battle 
is  also  impossible,  though  much  has  been  done 
in  that  direction  by  the  use  of  figures,  etc. 
These  things,  usually  conceded  to  stage  manage- 
ment, are  properly  in  the  province  of  the  author 
except  as  to  the  execution. 

Change  of  the  pictorial  scene  in  the  course  of 
an  act  is  against  the  custom  of  the  French  dram- 
atists. They  have  the  curtain  to  fall  and  dis- 
pose of  the  action  in  a  tableau.  Thus  there  may 
be  ten  or  twelve  tableaus  in  a  five-act  piece,  and 
reckoning  by  interruptions  to  the  action  they  are 
so  many  acts.  There  is  a  loss  as  well  as  a  gain 
in  this  method^  The  English  stage  has  long  used 


1 42          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

the  device  of  front  scenes.  A  pictorial  curtain 
is  dropped,  or  the  flats  are  moved  up  from  the 
sides,  leaving  space  behind  for  the  arrangement 
of  the  succeeding  scene.  The  illusion  may  be 
disturbed  by  this,  particularly  when  objects  have 
to  be  removed  by  supernumeraries  before  the 
scene  is  withdrawn.  Moreover,  the  sound  of 
the  hammer — which  should  no  more  be  heard 
there  than  in  the  building  of  Solomon's  temple 
— makes  itself  known  in  the  preparation  that  is 
going  on.  The  front  scene  need  not  be  a  mere 
device,  a  makeshift  to  gain  time  for  the  carpen- 
ter, but  it  often'is,  and  when  it  is,  there  being 
small  opportunity  and  room  for  effects  and  large 
action,  the  dialogue  must  be  entertaining.  Two 
full  scenes,  with  a  front  scene  interposing,  are 
enough  in  one  act  to  tax  the  mechanical  help  of 
the  stage  with.  Multiplicity  of  scene  is  bad  any- 
way; but  by  the  French  method  the  material 
is  often  enlarged  beyond  its  right  in  order  to 
accommodate  the  conventionally  limited  scenery. 
When  the  pictorial  part  is  too  elaborate,  necessi- 
tating long  delays  between  the  acts,  the  play 
may  be  buried  under  its  tons  and  "  car-loads  " 
of  painted  canvas  and  lathe. 

The  absurdities  and  difficulties  of  changing 
scenery  in  the  course  of  an  act  have  led  to  the 
use  of  boxed  interiors,  where  an  entire  act  is 
played  in  an  inclosed  room  or  space. 


The  Scenes  and  Principles  of  Action.    1 43 

But  the  drama  is  free  and  will  break  such  v 
bonds.     The  dramas  of   life  are  not  acted  in 
parlors  only. 

The  darkening  of  the  stage  for  the  change 
seems  to  accomplish  what  the  curtain  does  for 
the  French  tableau ;  while  revolving  scenes  have 
accomplished  something  also. 

Still,  front  scenes  are  to  be  avoided  wherever 
they  involve  absurdity.  When  the  audience 
is  ready  for  the  sequence  of  the  action  delay 
is  more  detrimental  than  a  quick  and  skillful 
change.  Imagination  is  the  strong  element  in 
illusion,  and  can  stand  the  English — the  Shak-, 
sperean  system. 

Stage  management  has  new  problems  all  the 
time.  The  use  of  electricity  has  introduced  the 
evil  of  shadows — which  should  never  interfere. 
Under  any  system  of  lighting,  "  lights  up  "  and 
"  lights  down  "  are  customarily  too  frequent  and 
too  sudden.  Irving  has  solved  the  difficulty  in 
the  appearance  of  flatness  in  the  scene,  by  not 
lighting  from  the  front.  One  of  the  chief  en- 
deavors of  scenery  should  be  to  get  away  from 
the  look  of  paint. 

The  pictorial  scene  must  have  human  senti- 
ment or  thought  connected  with  it.  A  moun- 
tain, or  a  practicable  pump,  or  a  shipwreck,  or 
an  earthquake  cannot  act  of  themselves. 

The  inanimate  can  only  have  an  accidental 


144          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

contact  with  man  in  the  matter  of  action.  The 
inanimate  is  valuable  for  impressions;  and  it 
may  go  a  step  beyond  that  and  furnish  a 
moment  of  influence  in  the  progress  of  the  story. 
It  is  necessarily  subordinate. 

When  the  mechanical  part  of  the  scene  enters 
into  the  action,  it  is  subject  to  the  same  laws 
that  govern  action. 

For  instance,  on  the  first  representation  of 
"  Elaine/*  at  the  end  of  an  act  the  barge  bear- 
ing the  body  of  the  blameless  Lily  of  Astolat  is 
seen  approaching,  and  the  curtain  drops  before 
it  arrives  at  the  palace  steps.  The  second  repre- 
sentation saw  this  remedied.  The  barge  reaches 
its  destination. 

Shakspere  can  be  played  without  scenery,  be- 
cause of  the  genius  with  which  the  imagination 
is  invoked ;  but  it  must  be  remembered  that  his 
plays  were  written  in  direct  view  of  the  absence 
of  scenery.  His  dramas,  however,  admit  of 
scenic  luxury.  To  a  modern  audience  the  de- 
scription of  Imogen's  chamber  would  be  risked 
in  the  absence  of  all  correspondence  with  the 
words;  Imogen  was  not  wholly  neglected — a 
king's  daughter — and  deserves  well  of  the 
stage-  manager. 

Change  of  scene  is  absolutely  necessary  in 
certain  forms  of  the  drama;  but  the  inexperi- 


The  Scenes  and  Principles  of  Action.     145 

enced  writer  has  a  fondness  for  changing  the 
scene  whether  necessary  or  not.  Scenery  for 
the  sake  of  scenery  is  vicious. 

Over-elaboration  leads  to  absurdities.  A 
"notable"  production  of  "Romeo  and  Juliet" 
yielded  to  the  prevalent  mistaken  fancy  for  what 
is  very  often  preposterous  detail  of  magnificence 
and  effect.  Never  was  better  proof  of  the  man- 
agerial fallacy  that  mere  costliness  counts  in  the 
drama. 

Juliet's  room  was  a  nest  of  splendor.  The 
paternal  care  of  the  manager  for  this  delicate 
daughter  of  the  Capulets  induced  him  to  provide 
her  apartment  with  comfort  in  the  way  of  a  large 
fireplace,  something  that  would  indicate  that 
he  sympathized  with  the  "  cold  day  "  that  was 
about  to  break  in  on  the  lovery.  He  heeds  not 
the  remonstrance  of  the  nightingale  and  disdains 
the  joyous  notes  of  the  lark.  Geographical  pro- 
priety must  give  way  to  the  cheerful  blaze.  It 
is  a  merry  flicker  that  the  light  plays  on  the 
fatal  scene,  and  the  aristocratic  dog-irons  glint 
with  ruddy  contentment  at  the  fire  fed  by  back- 
logs and  abundant  hickory ;  while  those  of  a 
domestic  turn  in  the  audience  regret  the  absence 
of  a  tea-kettle  to  sing  its  love  ditty.  A  broom 
could  well  nestle  in  the  corner,  and  commend 
the  tidiness  of  one  whose  tragic  end  denied 


146          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

her  the  completion  of  housewifely  instincts.  A 
day  of  wicked  weather  it  must  have  been  in  this 
manager's  Verona. 

Realism  is  a  proper  application  of  scenic  and 
mechanical  illusion.  There  is  a  false  realism 
where  the  scene  itself  is  pushed  into  an  impor- 
tance that  is  not  sustained  by  the  play.  There  is 
a  false  realism  where  the  action  is  utterly  out  of 
taste.  The  frankness — that  is,  the  naturalism — 
of  Zola  does  not  introduce  new  principles  into 
the  drama,  which  has  always  been  realistic  as 
well  as  ideal.  Realism  is  all  right  if  it  realizes, 
and  is  all  wrong  if  it  does  not.  Naturalism,  that 
which  an  author  contributes  to  a  play,  and  real- 
ism, that  which  the  actor  and  the  stage-man- 
ager contribute,  are  one  in  spirit;  it  being  a 
mere  question  of  terms. 

The  burden  of  expression  in  the  old  school 
was  the  actor.  It  was  an  individual  affair  with 
him.  He  required  the  centre  of  the  stage,  and 
there  was  a  general  tendency  toward  the  foot- 
lights. It  was  the  man,  almost  to  the  entire 
exclusion  of  accessories. 

Henry  Irving' s  methods  put  action  largely  in 
the  middle  distance.  The  genius  of  himself  and 
company  was  not  impaired,  however,  when  they 
acted  without  scenery,  as  they  did  at  West 
Point.  Indeed,  no  scenery  at  all  is  better  than 


The  Scenes  and  Principles  of  Action.     147 

bad  or  inappropriate  scenery,  and  if  the  human 
interest  is  strong  enough,  the  imagination  com- 
pletes the  illusion. 

Irving' s  scenery  was  never  merely  spectacu- 
lar. It  was  never  useless.  He  is  a  great  stage- 
manager — a  man  of  ideas.  Witness  "  Faust." 
Was  there  ever  such  economy  of  powerful 
means  in  such  an  exciting  scene  as  the  Carnival 
on  the  Brocken  ?  This  turmoil  has  a  very  short 
duration — certainly  not  more  than  ten  or  twelve 
minutes.  The  very  means  used  are  magical. 
The  shifting  of  the  figures  is  inextricable  to  the 
eye.  Nothing  is  repeated.  The  thundering 
sounds  and  multiplied  crashes  are  distinct  in 
every  horrid  whisper  and  consummated  terror 
of  discord ;  the  witch  flying  across  the  abysm  of 
the  suddenly  lighted  heavens,  the  rising  of  the 
moon,  the  jubilant  but  weary  climbing  of  the 
first  figures,  their  disappearance,  the  easy  de- 
scent and  triumphant  presence  of  Mephistoph- 
eles  with  Faust  straggling  behind  him ;  the 
sudden  emptiness  of  the  scene  recalling  the  fact 
of  the  blasted  nature  of  the  mountain-top ;  then 
the  throng  trooping  in  with  weird  song,  the  apes 
and  bats  climbing  the  dead  trees,  the  dance  of 
the  demons,  the  wailing  history  of  the  old  crone 
who  has  traveled  in  vain  for  three  hundred 
yearsf  the  imp  forging  sparks  of  blue  light  from 


148          Tbe  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

the  rock  where  is  seated  Mephistopheles,  the 
lustful  winningness  of  the  mute  female  suitors  of 
Faust,  who  carry  him  aside  from  view,  and  the 
final  clash  of  disappearance — are  wonders  of  im- 
aginative work.  The  secret  is  as  much  in  the 
detail  of  conception  as  in  the  execution.  It  is 
authorship  itself,  this  use  of  scenery. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

CHARACTER  AND  CHARACTERS. 

THE  persons  of  a  drama  are  significantly  called 
characters,  and  so  strong  is  the  necessity  for 
distinctness  in  their  respective  functions,  that  we 
find  Phillip  Massinger  supplying  his  "  A  New 
Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts  "  with  Sir  Giles  Over- 
reach, Wellborn,  All  worth,  Justice  Greedy,  Mar- 
rail,  Tapwell,  Froth,  Amble,  and  Furnace.  His 
play  in  simplicity  and  power  :>f  construction  is  a 
model.  His  art  is  far  in  advance  of  the  crude 
day  when  the  characters  were  straightway  named 
after  the  cardinal  virtues  and  vices  that  they 
stood  for.  There  was  no  need  of  the  device^ 
with  him,  but  it  strikingly  illustrates  the  prin- 
ciple that  a  dramatic  character  must  be  distin- 
guished by  a  prevailing  trait,  purpose,  and  use 
in  the  action.  At  present,  art  is  felt  to  be  a 
little  closer  to  life  in  not  making  use  of  this  de- 
vice while  it  continues  to  use  the  principle.  It 
was  only  another  form  of  the  same  thing  when 
in  the  time  of  carefully  governed  stock  com- 
149 


1 50          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

panics  the  lines  of  business  were  closely  drawn 
by  the  actors.  The  irascible  old  man,  the  walk- 
ing gentleman,  the  low  comedian,  and  all  the 
other  specialists  went  their  way  secure  in  the 
assignment  to  them  of  fitting  parts  in  the  play. 

Character  is  to  be  studied  out  in  detail  by  the 
author  just  as  carefully,  and  by  means  of  notes, 
as  he  has  worked  out  the  plot  and  developed 
the  acts  and  scenes.  It  requires  a  special  medi- 
tation of  its  own. 

The  brief  action  of  a  drama  and  art  itself  re- 
jects a  multitude  of  non-essential  things,  but  in 
effect  it  is  possible  to  reproduce  character  on  the 
stage,  with  an  illusion  that  is  practically  perfect. 
What  we  know  as  the  character  of  a  man  is  after 
all  the  general  knowledge  of  that  man.  He  is 
good,  bad,  generous,  miserly,  brave,  or  craven, 
as  the  case  may  be.  He  is  what  he  oftenest 
appears  to  be.  He  is  what  he  proves  himself  to 
be  in  the  affairs  in  which  he  is  an  actor.  If  we 
hold  to  the  principle  that  the  drama  is  life,  we 
find  no  mystery  in  the  creation  of  character; 
but  the  drama  has  certain  laws  of  its  own,  so 
that  Overreach  and  Greedy  and  Wellborn  must 
maintain  their  character  so  far  as  the  audience  is 
concerned  from  the  first  to  the  last.  This  does 
not  exclude  the  facts  and  truth  of  life,  for  in  the 
mimic  action  he  may  appear  to  his  associates 


Character  and  Characters.  151 

to  be  one  thing  and  surprise  them  by  being 
another. 

When,  therefore,  it  is  said  that  a  character 
must  have  dramatic  unity,  it  is  absolutely  true 
with  reference  to  the  audience.  Dramatic  unity, 
then,  is  the  first  essential  of  a  character.  It  is 
proper  to  repeat,  as  was  repeated  with  reference 
to  acts  and  scenes,  that  the  general  laws  govern 
every  detail.  We  can,  for  example,  no  more 
force  an  immoral  character  to  acceptance  as  an 
immoral  character,  than  we  can  find  success  with 
a  bad  moral  object  for  a  play. 

Only  those  sides  of  a  character  that  promote 
the  action  are  required  in  a  play.  The  shorter  / 
the  time  of  performance,  the  greater  the  compli- 
cation of  plot,  the  larger  the  number  of  persons 
directly  concerned,  the  more  general  the  treat-  ( 
ment.  The  play  of  character  admits  of  more 
detail  subject  to  the  principles  stated.  The  re- 
serve of  common  knowledge  of  any  class  of  men 
permits  of  effective  work  in  few  strokes.  Wit- 
ness Shakspere's  Old  Adam  in  "As  You  Like 
It,'*  and  the  Apothecary  in  "  Romeo  and  Juliet/' 
while  Massinger's  Tapwell  and  Froth  are  perfect 
impressions.  It  is  in  the  early  part  of  the  play 
that  the  foundation  for  character  is  laid.  There, 
too,  the  helping  incidents  may  have  a  minuter 
touch,  for  the  action  of  a  more  exacting  kind 


1^2          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

prevails  later  on.  In  plays  of  any  kind,  charac- 
ter should  be  revealed  at  the  earliest  moment. 
As  to  characters  in  general,  the  audience  wishes 
to  soon  single  out  and  to  know  the  chief  object 
of  sympathetic  attention.  Expectation  of  what 
is  to  come  is  largely  fostered  by  this. 

Character  is  not  created  by  what  is  said  of  a 
person  by  others ;  but  it  may  be  prepared  and 
confirmed  by  these  side-lights.  The  character 
must  be  witty,  or  brilliant,  or  generous,  inde- 
pendent of  any  description.  The  methods  and 
conditions  of  Sha^spere's  plays  permitted  more 
of  this  contributory  matter  than  the  modern 
drama.  These  touches  need  not  be  absent.  If 
integral  with  the  action  and  not  an  obvious  and 
redundant  device,  they  have  the  warrant  of  good 
practice. 

It  is  the  value  of  a  scene,  its  relativeness  and 
other  qualities,  that  impresses  character.  The 
length  of  a  scene  may  not  be  prescribed,  but 
care  must  be  taken  that  sufficient  time  be  given 
to  it,  not  too  much  or  too  little.  It  is  certain 
that  a  word  will  not  fix  it.  It  is  certain  that  the 
consent  of  the  audience  must  be  got  for  all  that 
is  done.  The  character  must  have  probability, 
or,  better  said,  actuality,  and  adequate  motives. 
No  artificiality  of  reasoning  or  plot  can  compen- 
sate for  their  absence.  When  this  structural 


Character  and  Characters.  153 

weakness  exists,  the  author  usually  has  some 
explanation  stuck  away  somewhere  in  the  text ; 
but  that  is  mechanism,  and  not  after  the  natural, 
generous,  and  yet  stern  laws  of  the  drama.  It 
is  not  the  number  of  lines  spoken  that  creates 
character,  nor  the  fact  that  they  are  in  charac- 
ter as  they  should  always  be,  but  their  use. 

Mere  incidents  of  character  amount  to  nothing 
unless  they  have  to  do  with  the  action,  and  are 
apt  to  make  the  character  diffuse,  or  to  weary 
by  reiteration.  All  things  in  a  drama  work  to 
the  common  good,  and  a  character  may  draw  aid  ' 
from  every  adjunct  of  the  stage.  Just  as  action 
and  the  tone  of  a  piece  may  be  influenced  by 
the  scenery,  so  may  a  character  take  a  color. 
The  home  of  a  man  proclaims  him :  the  sybarite 
in  his  chambers,  the  pauper  in  his  hovel.  Thus, 
there  are  so  many  things  contributory  to  charac- 
ter on  the  modern  stage  that  the  text  plays  a 
smaller  part  than  it  did  when  words  were  the 
chief  means  of  expression.  The  writer  must 
settle  with  himself  how  far  he  shall  make  his 
play  literary  or  practical.  The  word  is  often  es- 
sential ;  repetition,  is  often  required  for  character 
as  well  as  plot,  as  where  Jean  Renaud's  "  hot 
temper  and  jealousy  "  is  referred  to  frequently 
in  the  identical  phrase,  without  a  single  manifes- 
tation of  it.  A  definite  technical  purpose  apart 


154          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

from  mere  character  covers  the  case.  The  real 
character  affects  the  action  and  is  affected  by  it. 
That  is  the  test  as  to  the  real  and  the  inciden- 
tal. Thus  character  is  an  integral  part  of  all 
that  is  done.  The  actor  imagines  that  he  creates 
a  character,  whereas  its  composition  has  in  it 
elements  that  lie  far  away  from  anything  that  is 
in  his  function  or  power  to  do. 

He  helps  to  create  it ;  so  does  the  audience, 
so  does  the  author ;  and  where  the  illusion  of  a 
noble  character  is  perfect,  there  is  a  divine  some- 
thing in  it  that  no  man  can  lay  sole  claim  to. 
External  characteristics,  such  as  dress  and  per- 
sonal expression,  the  actor  must  needs  supply. 
He  interprets,  and  indeed  he  may  add  some- 
thing of  his  own.  One  actor  may  express  a 
character  by  the  use  of  few  words ;  another  may 
be  inadequate  to  the  same  part,  and  to  that  one 
a  fuller  text  might  be  given.  When  a  character 
is  strongly  local,  and  of  a  period,  like  Sir  Per- 
tinax  Macsycophant,  no  words  alone  can  effect 
results. 

There  are  many  forms  of  the  drama,  and  they 
are  distinguished  by  the  relative  proportion  of 
their  elements.  The  character  play,  as  a  study 
of  character,  has  its  place  only  as  one  of  them. 
The  general  laws  of  dramatic  character  remain 
for  all  of  them. 

The  real  action  of  a  play  is  carried  on  by  few 


Character  and  Characters.  155 

persons,  though  it  may  require  the  presence  on 
the  stage  of  many. 

Characters  are  created  for  purposes  belonging 
to  the  action  in  proper  function.  In  "  Camille," 
Armand's  father  is  in  it  for  a  great  scene;  an 
act,  and  then  he  is  retired.  A  false  tendency 
of  technique  would  have  him  in  at  the  death. 
An  instance  of  created  character  and  purpose  is 
that  of  Poncelet  in  "  Eustace  Baudin  " — note 
page  41  of  the  play. 

The  number  of  characters  in  a  play  depends 
upon  the  necessities  of  the  action.  Characters  of 
the  real  movement  are  few.  "  Caste  "  has  seven 
and  a  servant.  In  many  plays  the  number  could 
be  fewer,  as  far  as  mere  action  is  concerned,  but 
largeness  of  life  requires  numbers.  They  are 
needed  for  color,  breadth,  and  variety.  The 
drama  has  expanded  since  Horace  wrote :  "  Let 
not  a  fourth  person  speak." 

For  an  example  of  the  use  of  incidental  char- 
acters and  of  a  scene  for  color  and  atmosphere 
examine  page  4  of  "  Daniel  Rochat."  Voltaire's 
room  and  the  curiosity  or  ignorance  of  strangers 
does  not  concern  the  movement  of  the  story. 

Sardou's  use  of  Dr.  Bidache  is  noteworthy. 
He  identifies  him  with  the  main  character, 
Daniel  Rochat,  and  thus  gets  over  philosophic 
ground  without  monotony. 

The  star  actor  wishes  to  obtain  the  chief  share 


1 56          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

in  pieces  written  for  him,  and  thus  proportions 
are  sometimes  disarranged.  There  is  an  evil  in 
this,  but  in  plays  written  for  stock  the  interest 
should  not  be  too  scattered. 

The  dramatic  author  reaches  a  certain  limit, 
and  cannot  impart  character,  in  so  far  as  his 
manuscript  goes,  to  a  mere  incidental  figure, 
such  as  the  servant.  It  is  to  the  actor  that  he 
looks  to  mark  the  figure  with  class  distinction. 
Incidental  figures  may  be  introduced  into  a  play 
at  any  time  that  the  action  calls  for  them.  They 
may  be  of  decisive  importance,  and  be  full  of 
character,  but  they  are  to  be  recognized  as  inci- 
dental. Martin,  Sister  Genevieve,  and  many 
others,  are  striking  incidental  figures  in  "  The 
Two  Orphans.*'  Nothing  is  unimportant  in  a 
play.  Perfection  is  the  watchword  of  the  drama. 
A  good  play  should  not  be  done  on  the  install- 
ment plan.  Every  character  should  be  played 
up  at  the  same  performance.  A  subordinate 
figure  should  always  be  played  well.  If  it  is 
not,  why,  there  you  have  mechanism  and  dis- 
illusion in  its  baldest  form.  Too  often  has  an 
audience  been  invited  to  ribald  jest  by  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  soldiers  of  the  Grand  Army  of 
the  Roman  Republic.  With  minor  characters 
we  should  at  no  time  be  in  doubt ;  and  they,  as 
all  characters,  should  do,  and  be  expected  to  do, 


Character  and  Characters.  157 

only  what  has  been  promised  for  them  by  their 
dramatic  sponsors.  There  should  be  no  useless 
characters,  but  under  certain  conditions  mere 
lay  figures  give  breadth  of  life  and  local  color 
to  a  piece.  As  a  rule,  a  character  that  does  not 
contribute  to  the  action  proper  is  a  nuisance — 
as  unwelcome  as  the  unbidden  guest  at  the 
wedding- feast. 

It  is  not  enough  to  say  that  a  person  of  the 
drama  must  have  unity  of  character.  It  must 
also  have  unity  of  function.  The  economy  of  a 
play  requires  that  two  characters  should  not  be 
used  to  do  what  may  be  accomplished  by  one. 

Play-writing  is  analysis  by  common  sense,  and, 
so  practiced,  it  is  not  misled  by  false  interpreta- 
tion of  principles.  To  illustrate,  the  principle  is 
in  no  degree  violated  by  the  first  and  second 
murderer  in  "  Macbeth,"  or  by  Rosencranz  and 
Guildenstern  in  "  Hamlet."  A  drama  admits  of 
but  one  hero,  for  in  him  is  bound  up  the  unity 
of  the  action.  The  double  heroes  like  Romeo 
and  Juliet  are  common  enough,  but  they  glow 
together  like  the  binary  star. 

It  may  be  said  that  humor  in  the  drama  is 
provided  rather  by  character  and  situation  than 
by  the  literary  expression.  In  farce  it  is  largely 
brought  about  by  ridiculous  complications  and 
incident,  and  by  mechanical  process.  In  comedy, 


158          The  Technique  of  Ibe  Drama. 

which  is  close  to  life,  it  is  the  commonplace 
happening  that  most  excites  laughter.  The 
henpecked  husband,  the  bashful  lover,  and 
familiar  types,  furnish  its  best  supply. 

Aristotle  gives  it  as  a  rule  that  the  character 
of  a  hero,  in  order  to  gain  our  sympathy,  should 
be  made  up  of  mixed  evil  and  good.  Whatever 
may  have  be£n  the^bearings  of  this  maxim  on 
the  Greek  drama,  which  dealt  in  demigods  or 
characters  of  tradition,  it  is  true  to-day  when  the 
drama  is  human  and  filled  with  passion.  It  is 
certain  that  in  these  times  the  hero  must  be 
human  and  not  repulsive,  and  must  have  motives 
that  commend  themselves  to  our  reason.  His 
history  must  entertain  us.  Shakspere  reconciles 
us  to  lago  by  that  honest  gentleman's  wit  and 
causes  of  action.  Lessing  discusses  very  fully 
Aristotle's  elements  of  tragedy,  such  as  pity, 
terror,  and  horror.  To  his  "  Dramaturgic  "  the 
matter  may  be  referred.  For  modern  practical 
use,  the  element  of  taste,  aesthetics,  is  decisive. 

It  may  be  repeated  here  that  while  all  the 
characters  should,  if  possible,  be  introduced  or 
foreshadowed  in  the  first  act,  it  is  not  a  set  rule. 
If  it  were,  we  would  hear  of  the  Miss  Bloom- 
fields  before  page  32  of  "  Daniel  Rochat,"  and  of 
Charles  Henderson  before  Act  II.  But  it  is  bad 
art  to  withhold  a  principal  character  too  long. 


Character  and  Characters.  159 

ft  was  once  the  rule  to  reunite  all  the  charac- 
ters in  a  circle  before  the  footlights,  and  close 
the  play  with  a  tag  spoken  by  the  chief  person, 
and  often  with  a  succession  of  lines  by  each. 
This  arrangement,  particularly  in  artificial  farce, 
had  artistic  reasons  for  its  use,  but  it  has  no  uni- 
versality of  application.  True  art  tires  of  con- 
ventionality, and  we  find  in  late  plays,  such  as 
"  Fernande,"  by  Sardou,  only  three  characters 
on  the  stage  when  the  final  curtain  falls.  In  the 
play  twenty- five  persons  figure. 

Aristotle  says  that  character  must  be  agree- 
able, decent,  reasonable,  and  consistent.  It  may 
be  added  that  it  is  effected  by  motives,  speech, 
action,  and  external  tokens. 

These  attributes  cover  many  things.  Their 
disobedience  could  be  illustrated  by  many  ex- 
amples by  way  of  warning.  It  might  be  said 
that  the  hero  of  a  play  should  not  be  placed  in 
an  unworthy  situation  or  dishonored,  but  that 
would  simply  repeat  the  law  that  character 
should  be  consistent  and  maintained. 

We  have  already  seen  that  the  stage  is  not 
opposed  to  vice  in  character,  but  it  does  not 
permit  smallness  in  persons  of  interest.  This 
does  not  require  them  to  be  perfect.  On  the 
contrary,  the  drama  is  possible  only  by  reason 
of  human  errors. 


160         The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

It  has  been  already  stated  that  character  in 
dialogue  is  not  in  itself  drama. 

tf  V  Characters  must  act  by  free  will.  That  is  to 
say,  they  must  have  motives,  or  they  become 
puppets.  They  are  also  mechanical  when  they 
speak  for  the  author  and  not  for  themselves. 
Having  motives,  they  must  do  what  is  expected 
of  them. 

If  two  rivals,  for  instance,  appear  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  object  of  their  love,  or  of  one  whose 
good  or  evil  will  concerns  them,  the  situation 
must  evoke  character.  Character  is  not  to  be 
dropped  at  any  moment,  for  that  matter,  but 
there  must  be  no  situation  where  inactivity  is 
worse  than  negation.  The  character  must  be 
sustained  if  established,  confirmed  if  suggested. 

Character  in  part  or  full  should  be  seen  at 
once.  The  first  words  should  proclaim  it  if  the 
trait  is  to  play  a  part  of  importance.  An  illus- 
tration of  this  is  to  be  found  in  "  Eustace  Bau- 
din,"  where  the  first  talk  is  of  eating.  Later  on 
in  the  play  this  apparent  trifling  comes  into  the 
reckoning. 

A  character  is  sustained  by  happenings  in 
which  he  is  not  seen  in  person.  It  is  a  matter 
of  keeping  the  factor  in  mind.  The  value  of 
the  person  as  well  as  the  trait  has  to  be  kept  up. 

It  is  within  the  lines  of  true  comedy  to  charge 


Character  and  Characters.  161 

character  at  times.  It  is  the  same  as  loading  a 
point  with  pigment  in  painting  a  picture.  It 
must  be  true  in  spite  of  exaggeration.  Or,  we 
can  reinforce  character  by  an  incident.  This  is 
best  done  when  a  happening  dependent  on  the 
trait  is  to  follow. 

It  would  require  a  philosophy  of  life  itself  to 
discuss  what  is  noble  in  character,  and  the  like. 
In  trying  to  compass  nobility  the  danger  in 
plays  of  blank  verse  has  always  been  bombast. 
It  ensues  whenever  the  character  talks  of  him- 
self. In  practical  plays  taste  keeps  this  defect 
within  control.  How  character  displays  itself  is 
for  the  student  of  human  nature  to  learn  or  to 
know.  It  is  worth  while  to  make  one  observa- 
tion :  a  genuine  quality,  good  or  bad,  is  uncon- 
scious of  itself.  The  rascal  rarely  knows  his  own 
turpitude ;  the  vain  man  sees  himself  in  a  rosier 
light  than  others  do;  virtue  is  not  artful;  and 
so  on. 

The  management  of  the  entrance  and  exit  of 
characters  is  important.  Simple  as  this  may  ap- 
pear to  be,  there  is  no  detail  of  the  drama  that 
is  subject  to  more  bungling.  In  point  of  fact  it 
involves  important  principles — principles  that  are 
widely  applicable  in  construction.  The  scenic  cir- 
cumstance may  explain  the  presence  or  the  com- 
ing of  a  person  on  the  stage,  but  general  character 


162          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

and  purpose  must,  if  not  known  in  advance,  be 
made  apparent  as  soon  as  possible ;  and,  gener- 
ally speaking,  an  entrance  and  an  exit  must  be 
characteristic.  There  must  be  preparation.  But 
naturalness,  not  excess  of  device,  should  govern. 
It  is  an  old  trick  of  actors  that  demand  attention 
for  themselves  to  insist  on  being  heard  without, 
by  means  of  song  or  a  bustle  of  some  kind — as 
much  as  to  say,  "  I  am  coming*"  This  is  vanity 
not  always  pardonable,  but  it  is  based  on  good 
In  making  an  exit  y_our  low  come- 
dian will  bump  up  against  the  "wing  if  he  can 
get  emphasis  no  other  way.  Thus  every  act  on 
the  stage  tends  toward  the  definite.  Thus  the 
characters  become  clear  cut,  and  purpose  enters 
into  their  doings.  Preparation  for  an  entrance 
may  include  the  reason  for  the  entrance,  but 
reason  there  must  be.  A  figure  should  never 
be  retired  on  the  pretext  of  doing  something 
which  he  does  not  do,  or  something  that  is  im- 
material to  the  action  or  the  character.  In  the 
movements  on  the  stage  the  figure  must  not 
be  so  far  from  his  point  of  exit  that  his  lines  or 
his  business  are  exhausted  before  he  reaches  it. 
Few  experienced  actors  subject  themselves  to 
this  absurdity,  but  it  is  something  for  the  author 
to  look  to  as  well. 

Sometimes  a  scene  that  belongs  to  a  certain 


Character  and  Characters.  163 

character  may  be  so  strong  and  so  bound  up  in 
the  action  that  that  character  must  be  prepared 
by  other  means  for  the  spectator  than  by  simple 
development  of  its  own.  In  this  way  indirect 
creation  of  character  is  helpful  and  needful. 

Where  it  is  desirable  to  give  a  significant 
entry  to  a  character,  it  is  obvious  that  two  J 
people  of  equal  interest  should  not  come  on  to- 
gether. Of  course  no  rule  can  be  made  against 
an  entry  together  that  is  at  once  natural  and  of 
advantage  to  the  action. 

Contrast  of  character  is  important  in  a  tech- 
nical way,  and  natural  juxtaposition  is  a  neces- 
sity. In  "  Camille,"  ten  or  fifteen  minutes  are 
given  to  contrast  of  character  and  the  like,  where 
Prudence  comes  to  borrow  money  from  the 
dying  Camille.  This  contrast  is  a  powerful 
element  in  making  character.  It  may  exist 
between  the  situation  and  the  complications, 
as  well  as  between  characters.  Systematic  and 
habitual  contrast  is  a  bad  thing.  Consult  the  j/ 
subject  rather  than  conventionality. 

Stage  humor  is  in  a  manner  distinct  from  ? 
literary  humor.  It  is  often  not  in  the  lines  at 
all,  but  in  the  relation  of  the  actors  to  each 
other,  or  in  the  situation,  as  in  an  anecdote  there 
is  much  that  we  know  and  enjoy  not  expressed 
in  the  telling. 


164          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

Conventional  types  are  not  always  to  be 
avoided.  They  belong  to  the  trade,  are  staple, 
and  it  is  only  a  question  of  being  true  to  your 
theme  and  not  being  dominated  by  the  conven- 
tional. 

The  use  of  children  is  tempting,  but  not 
always  does  it  give  good  results.  Shal^spe^e 
was  sparing.  Note  in  "  Macbeth  "  the  son  of 
MacDuff ;  in  "  Winter's  Tale  "  the  boy ;  etc.,  etc. 
Children  may  be  grouped  with  effect,  but  as  a 
rule  the  dramatist  should  be  careful  not  to  con- 
fide too  much  to  them. 

The  comedy  of  character  is  so  distinctive  that 
some  writer  has  said  that  it  cannot  support  in- 
trigue. This  means  that  the  plot  is  subordinate. 
We  may  see  this  confirmed  by  many  of  the 
plays  written  for  character  actors.  They  are 
usually  melodramas  revamped  with  the  comedy 
part,  an  odd  mixture  in  which  the  play  itself  is 
of  small  consideration.  The  truth  of  the  mat- 
<  ter  is,  comedy  proper  is  very  generous  with  its 
characters,  and  to  interest  the  public  in  one 
amusing  person  only  is  against  its  special  tech- 
nique. It  is  easily  possible  to  write  one-part 
plays,  but  the  work  in  the  way  of  authorship 
is  commonly  done  badly,  while  the  actor's  part 
may  be  perfect. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

A    SUMMARY   OF   CERTAIN   LAWS   IN   ART. 

THE  drama  can  borrow  instruction  and  illus-, 
tration  from  all  the  arts.  There  is  hardly  a  de- 
tail in  painting  that  does  not  apply  in  some  way 
to  the  technique  of  the  drama.  Composition, 
color,  perspective,  climax,  proportion,  expres- 
sion, and  what  belongs  to  character,  background, 
contrast,  tone,  clearness,  harmony — are  a  few  of 
the  properties  in  common.  For  the  man  who 
has  the  instinct  of  art  this  suggestion  has  its 
value.  It  is  sufficient  now  to  bring  together 
for  brief  comment  a  few  of  the  principles  that 
require  the  distinction  of  some  treatment.  They 
may  gain  by  this  repeated  emphasis  some  new 
aspects. 

Mere  continuity  of  incidents  is  not  enough. 
It  is  better  to  break  continuity  than  to  be  dull. 
Witness  "The  Honeymoon/* 
/  Perspicuity  is  a  prerequisite  for  all  forms  of 
expression,  and  is  in  close  agreement  with  any 
105 


1 66          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

charm  that  we  experience.  An  indistinct  action 
is  as  bad  as  a  blurred  picture. 

Intelligibility  in  a  play  will  save  many  defects. 
The  repetition  of  an  idea  is  not  an  infrequent 
device  to  this  end.  In  a  general  way  a  play 
should  be  so  clear  that  one  coming  late  into  a 
theatre  may  take  up  the  thread  of  the  action. 

There  is  no  reason  why  a  playwright  at  all 
capable  should  not  at  least  be  lucid.  Clearness 
is  altogether  a  technical  quality.  It  does  not 
appertain  to  the  real  merit  of  the  material,  which 
in  itself  may  entirely  fail  to  reach  the  heart  of 
an  audience,  or  may  contain  far  more  than  the 
author  has  it  in  him  to  discover;  but  what  he 
does  know  he  should  be  able  to  tell.  Distinct- 
ness is  also  the  essence  of  good  acting.  The 
attention  of  the  hearer  should  be  free.  To  with- 
hold him  from  sentiment  by  obscurity  in  the 
media  of  communication  is  absurd.  No  well- 
written  play  is  above  the  understanding  of  the 
boy  in  the  gallery. 

The  language  of  a  drama  should  be  dramatic 
and  appropriate  to  character,  and  it  is  this  req- 
uisite that  the  skilled  translator  obeys.  As  a 
rule,  the  highest  type  of  the  conversational  is  to 
be  sought.  The  author  could  not  make  a 
greater  mistake  than  to  permit  all  his  characters 
to  talk  slang.  Slang  is  fatal  to  good  sense  and 


A  Summary  of  Certain  Laws  in  Art.    1 67 

honest  feeling.  The  dramatist  who  makes  his 
characters  of  good  station  in  life  talk  incorrect 
English  is  an  inborn  vulgarian.  3-a**  *jtr*.  ^AH  . 

Boucicault's  translation  of  "  Led  Astray  "  is  a 
perfect  example  of  the  transference  from  the 
French  to  the  English  of  the  dramatic  qualities 
in  language.  Blank  verse  is  essentially  dra- 
matic, with  its  swing,  dignity,  and  adaptability. 
Short  sentences  in  dialogue  are  in  the  nature  of 
quick  and  progressive  action,  but  occasion  arises 
for  very  considerable  uninterrupted  utterance. 
In  all  cases  the  language  of  the  drama,  except 
that  of  the  poetic  in  verse,  and  that  of  the  farce, 
is  distinctly  the  speech  of  every  day,  sometimes 
heightened  for  cause. 

Plainness,  or  rather  effectiveness,  is  not  to  be 
sacrificed  for  beauty.  Verbal  obscurity  and 
general  opaqueness  is  an  unpardonable  sin. 
There  is  so  much  sincerity  and  simplicity  re- 
quired in  the  construction  of  a  good  play  that  it 
may  almost  be  said  that  only  a  genuine  nature 
can  write  one.  The  language  is  intended  to 
be  understood  by  everybody,  to  the  uttermost 
gallery. 

Contrast  is  inevitable  in  the  drama.  The  op- 
position of  natures  brings  into  relief  differences 
of  natures.  There  is  a  contrast  of  motives  and 
of  characters,  and  throughout  the  play  the  ten- 


1 68          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

dency  to  put  light  against  shade,  color  against 
color,  and  situation  against  situation,  and  so  on, 
is  very  strong.  Note  how  brightly  Lesurques 
starts  in.  He  is  filled  with  happy  anticipations. 
This  tendency  to  contrast  in  the  drama  appears 
in  the  text  in  epigram  and  antithesis. 

Gradation  is  that  wise  husbanding  of  effect 
that  keeps  the  play  at  a  natural  pace.  An  exam- 
ple of  this  is  Esther's  play  with  the  letters  in  her 
hand,  before  telling  the  contents  of  one  of  them 
to  D'Alroy  in  "  Caste."  The  dramatic  idea,  on 
the  whole,  requires  rapidity  of  movement ;  but 
if  the  movement  be  too  rapid  it  may  easily  fall 
into  the  artificial.  Gradation  reins  in  the  move- 
ment. 

Much  in  the  same  way  indirectness  prevents 
abruptness,  and  gives  to  the  action  an  automo- 
bility  that  relieves  it  of  the  appearance  of  art. 
For  example,  a  character  may  be  at  a  certain 
place  for  one  object,  say  to  meet  another  person, 
and  while  there  overhear  a  conversation  that 
gives  a  new  turn  to  affairs.  Dramatic  move- 
ment is  filled  with  these  new  springs  of  action, 
these  deflections  whereby  the  plot  is  not  in  the 
hands  of  one  character,  but  is  effected  by  the 
doings  of  each. 

>~Proportion  goes  to  many  parts  of  a  drama,  the 
force  of  bits  of  action,  the  length  of  scenes,  the 


A  Summary  of  Certain  Laws  in  Art.    1 69 

use  of  characters  and  effects  generally,  until  in 
the  sum  of  all  we  note  the  perfect  result.  It  is 
a  vital  source  of  beauty.  A  play  is  not  com- 
plete until  it  is  acted,  so  that  dress  rehearsals 
should  mark  the  most  important  stage  of  work- 
manship. Dumas  fils  says  that  the  art  is  almost  / 
wholly  a  thing  of  proportions.  The  values  in  > 
painting  have  the  same  significance  as  propor- 
tion. It  applies  to  all  parts  of  the  drima,  as, 
for  instance,  a  scene  of  great  strength  Usually 
requires  one  of  corresponding  strength  in  ap- 
position. 

^Variety  as  a  technical  grace  in  handling 
material  has  no  small  value.  It  forbids  the  too 
frequent  use,  whenever  it  is  to  be  avoided,  of 
the  same  devices  in  the  same  play.  It  counsels 
against  opening  the  acts  with  monologues  in 
succession,  or  by  the  reading  of  letters,  or  what- 
ever may  have  been  used  once.  The  same  sit- 
uation is  not  to  be  repeated.  Monotony  is  to 
be  avoided.  It  is  perhaps  not  altogether  neces- 
sary, but  it  is  safe  to  remark  that  variety  in  this 
relation  does  not  countenance  the  introduction 
of  so-called  specialties  by  performers. 

^Illusion  is  the  end  aimed  at  by  the  acted 
piece,  that  combination  of  so  many  energies  and 
of  so  many  practical  appliances.  The  theatre- 
goer enjoys  the  abiding  reminiscence  of  some 


/7O          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

moments  in  his  experience  when  he  has  forgot- 
ten his  surroundings  and  believed  that  what 
passed  before  him  on  the  stage  was  a  reality, 
and  not  an  imitation  of  a  reality.  Such  an  illu- 
sion, however,  is  rarely  general  in  an  audience 
or  continuous  with  the  action.  It  may  bring  an 
audience  to  complete  surrender  at  every  point 
of  judgment  and  sympathy,  and  leave  impres- 
sions as  lasting  as  any  that  life  affords.  It  re- 
quires a  perfect  combination  of  naturalness  and 
art  to  bring  this  about.  Any  interruption  or 
divergence,  accidental,  mechanical,  or  personal, 
has  the  illusion  at  its  mercy.  Its  preservation 
is  the  constant  problem  of  stage  management, 
and  vigilance  at  each  performance  is  unceasing ; 
all  of  which  is  plain,  practical  common  sense. 
With  what  a  fine  sense  of  responsibility,  then, 
should  not  an  author  proceed  in  his  labors  that 
precede  the  employment  of  so  many  human  and 
mechanical  forms !  Is  he  to  dash  off  his  scenes  in 
a  careless-confident  way,  without  conscientious 
appreciation  of  every  effect,  while  a  scene-shifter 
is  discharged  for  the  slightest  delinquency? 
Nay,  his  duty  extends  further,  in  two  directions, 
in  this  day  of  accuracy  and  of  scenic  complete- 
ness. He  must  not  leave  such  opportunities  for 
disillusion  as  come  with  the  appearance  of  stage 
hands  in  livery  or  costume  to  remove  the  para- 


A  Summary  of  Certain  Laws  in  Art.    \  7 1 

phernalia  of  a  scene ;  nor  must  he  introduce 
technical  mechanism  for  motives  of  character  and 
action.  He  may  sin  by  omission  and  commis- 
sion. Probability  is  the  greatest  aid  to  illusion 
in  the  poet's  part  of  the  work.  Probability  can- 
not be  created  by  mere  trick.  A  clear  and 
possibly  an  elaborate  statement  of  the  facts  in  a 
given  case,  but  the  facts  must  be  true  and  not 
false.  We  will  accept  the  most  extravagant 
things,  but  not  a  deliberate  dramatic  lie.  It 
may  be  backed  up  by  all  manner  of  subtle 
reasoning  and  by  all  the  tricks  of  the  trade,  and 
the  lie  will  not  prosper. 

A  volume  could  be  written  recounting  im- 
probabilities in  dramas.  Some  of  them  are 
impossibilities,  but  there  must  be  truth  in  them 
somewhere.  In  Schiller's  "  Robbers/'  the  glow- 
ing word  and  deed  of  these  perturbed  spirits 
of  the  story  carry  illusion.  Illusion  determines  , 
probability,  and  technique  has  something  to  say 
in  the  matter,  for  if  there  is  no  preparation  or  no 
motive  the  scene  is  improbable,  that  is,  its  arti- 
ficiality is  seen;  as  where,  for  convenience,  in 
"  The  Love  Chase/'  the  author  has  Lydia  at- 
tacked. It  is  motiveless,  sudden,  and  ineffec- 
tive. In  certain  forms — the  farce,  for  example 
— there  is  no  such  thing  as  improbability. 

Probability   depends   on   the    atmosphere  of 


1 72          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

the  play.  We  accept  the  disguise  of  Rosalind 
in  "As  You  Like  It,"  but  not  of  the  woman 
in  Buchanan's  "Infatuation."  In  "  Ingomar," 
which  is  romantic,  we  do  not  care  about  the 
geography  of  Massilia,  and  nothing  for  the  eth- 
nology of  the  Allobrogi ;  nor  do  we  insist  too 
much  against  the  satin  slippers  and  Greek  gown 
of  Parthenia  in  the  mountains.  The  natural 
things  are  plain  enough ;  it  matters  not  if  there 
be  no  real  Massilia  and  no  Allobrogi. 

In  "  Eustace  Baudin  "  all  sorts  of  things  hap- 
pen between  the  acts ;  first  he  is  confined  in  a 
lunatic  asylum,  and  then  in  prison ;  but  it  suits 
us  to  admit  all  the  happenings  without  ques- 
tion. It  does  not  trouble  us  that  the  gardener's 
son  in  "  The  Lady  of  Lyons "  could  not  well 
have  carried  on  his  courtship  undetected,  but 
we  are  ready  to  excuse  if  our  will  goes  that 
way.  The  revolutionary  times  have  a  bearing 
on  it. 

Probability  depends  also  on  the  use  to  be 
made  of  a  fact.  The  audience  will  consent  to 
what  is  not  in  itself  probable,  but  what  is  pos- 
sible, if  it  be  properly  handled.  Again,  an  im- 
probability in  real  life  may  be  the  most  grateful 
truth  in  a  play  of  fancy.  There  would  be  no 
play  if  the  hero  were  to  do  certain  things.  The 
author  should  show  reason  why  he  did  not. 


A  Summary  of  Certain  Laws  in  Art.    \  73 

Illusion,  or  sense  of  reality,  may  exist  in  a  play 
however  often  you  may  see  it.  No  one  thing 
produces  it.  It  is  not  a  trick.  It  is  compounded 
of  all  that  enters  into  a  play.  Appreciation  of 
the  author's  art  has  nothing  to  do  with  it,  and 
consequently  he  is  the  best  critic  who  for  the 
time  being  submits  to  the  illusion.  He  is  the 
best  spectator  who  easily  yields.  It  is  perhaps 
not  possible  to  make  one  forget  for  several  hours 
that  what  he  sees  passing  before  him  on  the 
stage  is  an  imitation,  and  believe  that  it  is  a 
reality.  And  yet  that  is  the  object,  unattain- 
able as  it  may  be.  Schlegel  says  that  the 
terrors  of  tragedy  would  be  a  torture  if  we 
believed  in  its  reality.  Very  curious  conjec- 
ture and  discussion  could  spring  from  that 
proposition;  but  it  is  not  practicable  to  con- 
sider illusion  any  more  closely  than  has  here 
been  done. 

To  create  and  sustain  illusion  is  of  inestimable 
value  to  actor  as  well  as  author.  Where  the 
illusion  is  not,  you  see  the  trick.  You  observe 
with  curious  interest  that  Edwin  Booth's  art  lies 
largely  in  the  grace  of  his  hands,  or,  that  with 
Henry  Irving  it  is  thoughtful  scholarship  applied 
to  detail,  and  so  an  illusion  is  the  conjunction 
of  all  things  that  produce  reality — the  acting, 
scenery,  probability — everything.  It  require^ 


1 74          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

perfect  art  in  all  the  branches  of  the  production, 
scenic  as  well  as  acting.  Attainable  illusion  is 
created  when  a  spectator  remembers  a  scene  or 
a  play  as  if  it  were  an  actual  experience  in  his 
life.  Thus  Schlegel's  apprehension  comes  to 
nothing,  for  you  get  the  moral  benefit  without 
the  torture. 

The  fault  of  disillusion  in  improbable  passages 
is  commonly  in  the  mechanical  nature  of  the 
action. 

preparation  and  proof^  are  almost  identical 
with  the  conduct  of  a  case  at  law.  You  state 
your  facts  and  cause  of  action,  make  proof,  and 
ask  judgment.  We  see  that  Lesurques  tells  of 
his  father's  poverty,  the  pleasure  that  he  will 
have  in  providing  for  him,  etc.,  etc. 

It  is  not  necessary  to  tell  an  audience  what  is 
going  to  be  done,  although  in  "The  Honey- 
moon "  the  Duke  favors  us  with  his  design  as 
to  Juliet.  In  "The  Danicheffs "  we  are  not 
informed  that  Ossip  is  reserving  Anna  for  his 
master,  but  we  have  lost  sight  of  them  for  an 
act,  and  the  coup  is  successful  when  it  breaks  on 
us.  We  are  not  told  in  advance  that  D'Alroy 
in  "  Caste  "  is  not  dead.  How  to  foster  antici- 
pation is  suggested  by  the  material. 

The  art  of  withholding  as  well  as  the  art  of 
foreshadowing  are  secrets  of  the  dramatist.  So 


A  Summary  of  Certain  Laws  in  Art.    175 

delicate  are  the  necessities,  that  to  attempt  to 
give  rule  in  these  concerns  would  be  to  do  more 
than  this  book  promises. 

Dubosc  comes  to  his  ruin  in  the  last  act 
through  his  love  of  the  bottle.  Note  how  the 
point  of  his  brandy  drinking  is  forced  in  the  first 
act.  It  is  the  sign  by  which  he  is  made  known. 

In  the  same  play,  when  Lesurques  is  under 
trial,  a  countryman  appears  with  the  spurs  that 
he  had  lost.  The  peasant  is  an  incidental  char- 
acter introduced  for  the  first  time.  It  is  ample 
preparation  that  we  know  the  spurs  were  left 
behind.  Explanation  is  often  a  mere  formality, 
for  the  audience  has  divined  the  case,  or  finds 
in  the  expressed  explanation  immediate  satis- 
faction. 

Expectation  is  skillfully  handled  in  this  way 
sometimes. 

Prcrjaration  is  of  extreme  importance.  This 
is  something  more  than  assigning  motive  for 
actions.  There  is  no  time  to  be  explaining  the 
nature  of  a  scene  during  its  progress.  There  is, 
for  example,  a  scene  of  shipwreck.  We  should 
be  prepared  for  the  import  of  the  scene,  the 
rescue  of  a  certain  person,  or  the  like.  Prepa- 
ration includes  motive,  but  motive  is  some- 
thing that  in  scope  lies  beyond  expression  at 
times.  Cause  must  be  shown  for  everything 


176          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

that  happens.  In  the  case  of  murder  committed 
by  a  villain,  his  nature  is  motive  enough,  but 
\j  preparation  for  the  specific  deed  must  be  made, 
in  order  to  be  dramatic.  If  an  honest  man 
commits  murder  in  a  drama,  it  may  require  the 
entire  play  to  set  forth  his  motive  or  justifica- 
tion. There  must  always  be  a  reason,  whether 
of  sentiment,  of  judgment,  or  of  the  logic  of 
events. 

Much  might  be  said  of  the  value  of  truth — 
fidelity  to  nature.  Fitzgerald  amply  illustrates 
the  aberrations  from  it  in  modern  comedy. 
Truth  applies  the  rule  that  all  should  be  done 
in  character. 

tx  Susgense^js  interest  awakened  to  curiosity, 
and  sympathy  mixed  with  doubt  as  to  the  result 
of  an  action  added  thereto.  It  is  more  than 
curiosity,  for  we  feel  the  suspense  in  familiar 
plays.  We  live  over  old  experiences  with  an 
interest  that  may  be  more  tender  by  repetition. 
Suspense  is  the  test  of  the  highest  interest. 
Skill  may  maintain  it  in  a  way  that  tests  art.  In 
"  Jim  the  Penman"  there  are  constant  interrup- 
tions of  impending  danger.  The  reappearance 
of  the  check,  the  interviews  between  Jim  the 
Penman  and  Baron  Hartfeldt,  and  other  pas- 
sages, keep  up  suspense  constantly.  Thus  sus- 
pense is  the  holding  things  in  solution,  solving 


A  Summary  of  Certain  Laws  in  Art.     177 

nothing  as  long  as  that  something  is  of  use  to 
the  action. 

These  elements  are  recalled  here  to  emphasize 
their  necessary  presence  and  close  relationship  in 
every  play ;  and  to  urge  upon  the  author  the  im- 
portance of  reviewing  and  questioning  his  work, 
as  he  proceeds,  so  as  to  keep  it  close  to  the 
simple  requirements  of  the  drama. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

ADAPTATION   AND    DRAMATIZATION. 

THE  adaptation  of  plays  is  not  only  a  proper 
method  of  increasing  our  store  of  dramas,  but  it 
is  a  resource  to  which  the  manager  will  be  con- 
stantly driven  by  practical  necessity. 

Successful  pieces  are  comparatively  rare,  and 
the  public  demands  novelties.  There  are  senti- 
mental objections  urged  by  the  upholders  of  the 
native  drama  against  the  importation  of  foreign 
material ;  but  it  may  be  assumed  that  the  man- 
ager is  not  amiss  in  his  liking  for  the  product  of 
writers  whose  names  give  assurance  of  merit  and 
success.  A  drama  by  Sardou,  Dumas,  D'En- 
nery,  Sims,  or  Pettit,  has  a  commercial  value. 
There  is  an  advertising  quality  in  the  brand.  If 
management  consisted  in  simply  buying  and 
selling  an  article  just  as  found  in  the  market,  it 
would  be  an  easy  business;  a  mere  barter  in 
literary  hogsheads  of  sugar  and  sacks  of  coffee. 
And  indeed,  this  commercial  idea  of  the  case 
sends  many  a  venture  to  the  bottom. 
178 


Adaptation  and  Dramatisation.         179 

The  manager  esteems  himself  wise  in  his  pur- 
chase. He  is  astute  in  the  use  of  the  means  so 
well  known  to  him  in  presenting  the  property  to 
the  public.  He  has  courage  in  the  mounting  of 
it.  He  employs  a  company  at  salaries  commen- 
surate with  the  anticipated  receipts.  In  the 
mean  time,  by  a  fatuity  hard  to  explain,  he 
often  neglects  to  have  his  play  put  into  shape 
for  his  market.  The  failure,  for  that  matter, 
may  proceed  directly  from  the  adapter.  The 
work  may  be  badly  done,  or  not  be  done  at  all. 

In  New  York,  Wallack's  Theatre  in  its  latter 
days  was  governed  by  English  actors  and  stage- 
managers,  who  reproduced  English  melodramas 
untouched,  and  the  house  crumbled  season  after 
season  toward  its  final  disaster.  Mr.  A.  M. 
Palmer,  in  his  career  of  ten  years  as  manager  of 
the  Union  Square  Theatre,  owed  his  continuous 
and  uncommon  prosperity  to  his  suggestive- 
ness  and  carefulness  in  the  matter  of  adaptation 
whenever  it  was  a  question  of  handling  a  foreign 
play.  The  process  of  adaptation  may  be  ap- 
plied to  the  entirely  new  and  original  piece  as 
well  as  to  the  imported.  Each  must  be  adapted 
to  stage  effect.  The  process  was  substantially 
adaptation  in  the  case  of  Bronson  Howard's 
"  Banker's  Daughter  "  as  it  was  with  "  The  Two 
Orphans. "  In  the  one  case  the  whole  scheme 


i8o          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

was  changed.  In  the  other  the  entire  last  act 
was  dropped. 

Ordinarily  the  adapter,  if  we  may  judge  by 
his  handiwork  so  often  thrust  before  us,  is  a 
marplot.  The  power  of  the  piece  vanishes,  no 
man  knows  whither.  The  manager  is  astonished 
that  a  judicious  mixture  of  robustious  horse-play 
and  muscular  tragic  action  engrafted  on  the  elu- 
sive play  does  not  accomplish  results. 

It  would  seem  unnecessary  to  aver  that  the 
mere  translation  of  a  drama  is  something  entirely 
distinct  from  the  art  of  adaptation.  Yet  we  find 
a  drama  by  D'Ennery  presented  without  a  single 
mark  of  intelligent  workmanship.  To  simply 
recount  the  story  of  "  Duprez  and  Son  "  is  to 
verify  this  statement.  A  father  who  has  been 
untrue  to  an  early  love,  and  has  married  one  of 
his  maturer  affections,  has  in  his  home  and  busi- 
ness establishment  the  two  products  of  his  law- 
ful and  unlawful  alliances,  respectively.  The 
legitimate  son  is  the  scoundrel  who  succeeds  in 
turning  their  common  father  against  the  base- 
born  but  noble  one.  These  two  natures  are  in 
deadly  conflict  throughout,  and  only  after  trials 
of  poverty,  blindness,  and  cruel  fortune  does  the 
virtuous  pledge  of  an  unsanctified  love  return, 
with  wife  and  child,  to  receive  the  blessing  of 
the  repentant  old  man,  who  learns  of  his  error 


Adaptation  and  Dramatisation.         181 

of  judgment.  The  legitimate  youth  is  cast 
into  the  outer  darkness.  Possibly  a  philosophic 
Frenchman  may  sympathize  with  all  of  the  fig- 
ures in  this  drama,  which  is  "  technically  "  a  fine 
one ;  but  to  expect  any  man  of  the  English  race 
who  is  wise  enough  to  know  his  own  father  and 
pure  enough  to  love  his  own  mother,  to  enter 
into  the  spirit  of  this  revolutionary  fustian,  is 
a  trifle  too  much.  Had  the  employed  adapter 
mislaid  his  common  sense?  The  alterations 
essential  to  this  play  are  too  obvious  to  dwell 
upon.  It  would  be  a  plain  and  simple  task  to 
make  it  a  strong  and  honest  performance.  Not 
so  did  the  always  wise  and  always  pure  Shak- 
spere  treat  the  same  theme  in  "As  You  Like  It." 

Charles  Reade  scornfully  said  of  the  ordinary 
adaptation :  "It  is  as  easy  as  shelling  peas ;  and 
I  know." 

It  is  obvious  that  many  so-called  adapted 
plays  are  only  translations.  Wherever  the  char- 
acters, the  names,  the  motives,  the  incidents,  the 
whole  thing,  in  fact,  remains  foreign,  it  is  a 
translation.  Some  plays,  for  that  matter,  defy 
adaptation.  It  is  often  essential  to  convert  a 
character  into  something  else ;  just  as  the  ballet- 
dancing  mother-in-law  in  "  Les  Surprises  du 
Divorce  "  becomes  the  woman's- rights  woman 
in  "The  Lottery  of  Love,"  by  Augustin  Daly. 


1 82          The  Technique  of  foe  Drama. 

Mere  change,  however,  does  not  always  work 
well.  When  the  adapter  of  D'Ennery's  "  Mar- 
tyr "  substituted  a  French  Corporal  for  an  Indian 
servant  he  could  not  have  made  a  graver  mis- 
take. The  Indian  servant  was  specially  created 
to  keep  alive  the  fact  that  the  daughter  had 
been  far  away  from  the  unhappy  scenes  in  Paris. 
Adaptation  may  require  all  the  skill  that  an 
original  author  must  use ;  and  it  is  often  the 
better  skill.  The  English  playwrights  are  often 
happy  in  their  work,  as  witness  Robertson,  who 
made  of  "Caste"  and  "School"  plays  of  his 
own  and  essentially  English.  By  the  same 
process  Moliere's  "Tartuffe"  was  the  remote 
ancestor  of  "The  Serious  Family." 

"  The  Banker's  Daughter  "  was  twice  adapted, 
once  by  Mr.  Palmer  in  New  York,  and  again  in 
London  by  James  Alberry,  in  conjunction  with 
the  author.  Mr.  Bronson  Howard,  in  a  lecture 
delivered  in  Boston  and  printed  in  four  columns 
of  the  Herald  of  that  city  of  March  27,  1876, 
gives  a  minute  account  of  the  necessities  of  alter- 
ation demanded  by  differences  in  English  and 
American  social  habits. 

Adaptation  is  a  necessity  in  proportion  to  the 
provincialism  of  a  nation.  England  is  stub- 
bornly narrow,  and  few  pieces  are  presented  in 
London  that  have  not  been  subjected  to  change, 


Adaptation  and  Dramatisation.         183 

in  deference  to  prejudice.  In  this  way  has 
arisen  a  formidable  body  of  impostors  who 
assume  to  act  as  excise  officers  of  the  drama, 
and  affix  their  names  to  the  works  of  Scribe, 
Sardou,  or  any  other  writer  that  falls  into  their 
clutches,  such  as  "A  Scrap  of  Paper,"  by  Pal- 
grave  Simpson,  and  everything  he  can  lay  his 
hands  on,  by  Sydney  Grundy. 

The  delight  afforded  by  Mr.  Joseph  Jeffer- 
son's Bob  Acres  cannot  be  distinctly  transmitted 
by  tradition.  The  country  squire  in  his  present 
form  is  as  real  and  mortal  as  our  cherished  co- 
median. Less  perishable  is  Mr.  Jefferson's  ser- 
vice in  re-creating  the  play  of  "The  Rivals." 
He  has  swept  away  the  disturbing  artificialities 
of  the  plot.  The  only  character  that  has  proved 
to  be  obdurate  is  Lydia.  Her  overwrought 
sentimental  romanticism  was  a  thing  of  the  day, 
and  happens  to  be  as  to  the  play  integral; 
otherwise  nature  and  true  proportions  exist  in 
Mr.  Jefferson's  version.  The  changes  that  have 
been  made  are  of  the  most  delicate  and  skillful 
description.  It  will  be  profitable  to  dwell  for 
a  brief  space  on  the  material  additions  to  the 
comedy. 

In  a  day  of  such  oaths  as  "  's  death's,"  "  'oons," 
*  zounds,"  "  gad,"  and  "  by  the  Mass,"  there  was 
a  purpose  in  the  novel  plan  of  swearing  adopted 


1 84          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

by  Bob  Acres,  but  at  the  present  day  there 
would  be  small  significance  in  his  "  odds  frogs 
and  tambours,"  "  odds  flint  and  triggers," 
"  odds  daggers  and  balls  !  "  Mr.  Jefferson  has 
retained  a  mere  suggestion  only  of  this  satirical 
device. 

It  is  not  essential  to  point  out  in  detail  the  re- 
arrangement of  scenes  in  their  entirety.  Printed 
in  parallel  columns,  the  original  text  and  the  new 
version  would  show  that  it  is  a  matter  mainly  of 
technical  skill  in  bringing  out  points,  with  the 
addition  of  matter  entirely  in  character.  For 
example,  Bob  Acres  and  his  servant  David  are 
discovered.  David  says :  "I  warrant  Dolly 
Tester,  your  honor's  favorite,  would  blush  like 
my  waistcoat."  The  new  version  interrupts 
with :  "  I  would  like  to  see  Dolly — and  Dolly 
would  like  to  see  me."  He  refers  to  his  bravery 
of  attire,  and  his  mind  reverts  to  his  simple 
country  home.  The  original  has :  "  But,  David, 
has  Mr.  De  La  Grace  been  here?"  Jefferson 
puts  it,  with  an  obvious  gain  in  clearness  and 
directness :  "  David,  tell  the  dancing-master  to 
come." 

The  diverting  incidents  that  follow  are  new, 
except  that  David,  according  to  Sheridan,  says : 
"  I  can't  help  looking  at  your  head!  If  I 
hadn't  been  at  the  cooking,  I  wish  I  may  die  if 


Adaptation  and  Dramatisation.         185 

I  should  have  known  the  dish  again  myself !" 
The  servant  goes  off  content  with  this  compara- 
tively ineffective  wit,  that  has  more  of  Sheridan 
in  it  than  of  David.  Our  comedian  arranges  it 
somewhat  in  this  way  :  David  laughs.  "  What 
are  you  laughing  at?"  "Your  head."  "My 
head!  what's  the  matter  with  my  head?"  "  It 
looks  like  a  cabbage."  (It  was  in  its  exuberant 
state  of  release  from  the  curl-papers.)  Acres 
feels  his  head  and  says  aside,  "  I  am  sorry  I 
brought  the  fellow." 

After  a  pause,  he  adds :  "  David,  that  will 
do,"  and  out  goes  the  honest  dependent,  laugh- 
ing, to  an  effective  exit.  Acres  then  explains 
that  David  has  been  spoiled  by  the  family  in 
long  service.  The  practice  of  the  dance  before 
the  mirror  is  modified  as  to  the  text,  and  Sir 
Lucius  O 'Trigger  is  shown  up  as  he  is  gliding 
about  and  bowing.  An  effect  is  gained.  The 
original  has  it  "a  servant."  Jefferson  has  it 
David,  and  in  an  aside  he  repeats  his  determina- 
tion to  send  him  back  home,  recovers  his  sur- 
prise and  asks  Sir  Lucius :  "  How  long  have 
you  been  here?"  The  original  text  has  it: 
"  Acres — I  send  word  of  my  arrival  and  receive 
answer  that  the  lady  is  to  be  otherwise  disposed 
of."  Jefferson  brings  out  the  humor  of  his  suit 
in  idiomatic  phrase  with :  "  I  send  word  that  I 


1 86          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

am  here,  and  the  answer  comes,  '  You  may  go 
back  ' ! "  As  to  his  rival,  he  adds :  "  I  haven't 
seen  him — and  I  don't  believe  anybody  else 
has."  "What's  to  be  done?"  says  Sir  Lucius. 
"  It  is  to  ask  you  that  I  sent  for  you,"  replies 
Acres.  Thus  motives  and  distinctness  not  tech- 
nically clear  in  the  original  are  provided  at  every 
point.  When  the  point  is  not  entirely  clear  it 
is  repeated. 

Long  sentences  are  broken  up  and  interrupted. 
"  Does  Company  begin  with  a  C  or  a  K?  "  asks 
the  original  Bob  Acres,  and  no  further  business 
is  indicated.  Jefferson  haggles  a  little  about  the 
word,  displays  a  slight  distress,  and  finally  leans 
over,  whispers,  and  gets  the  response  from 
OTrigger  of  "  with  a  C,  of  course."  "  Let  the 
worst  come  of  it,  it  will  be  off  your  mind  to- 
morrow," is  repeated  by  the  anxious  duellist. 
The  bargaining  for  thirty-nine  paces,  if  O'Trig- 
ger  will  not  consent  to  forty  or  thirty- eight, 
is  new.  So  is  the  jumping  at  the  idea  that 
O'Trigger  will  call  out  his  man  first. 

The  business  and  talk  with  David  as  to  the 
letter  of  challenge  that  he  holds  in  his  hand  are 
happily  conceived. 

These  points,  as  others,  grow  directly  out  of 
the  original,  but  are  not  expressed  in  it.  "  I 
warrant  it  smells  of  gunpowder,"  is  the  original 


Adaptation  and  Dramatisation.         187 

suggestion  by  David.  Jefferson  adds :  "  Look 
out,  David,  it  may  go  off  !  "  He  drops  it,  re- 
covers himself  with,  "  Whoever  heard  of  a  letter 
going  off?"  "David,  hand  me  the  letter." 
There  is  an  admirable  improvement  in  the  scene 
where  David  gets  on  his  knees  in  imploring 
terror  and  is  ordered  to  stand  up  by  the  now 
well-frightened  Bob.  Among  other  new  points 
are  the  joy  and  fresh  confidence  and  swagger  of 
Acres  when  Sir  Lucius  consults  his  watch  and 
announces  that  the  hour  for  the  duel  is  past. 
Captain  Absolute  and  Faulkland  are  seen 
coming.  "They  have  no  right  to  come  now." 
"We  won't  run,  I  hope  I  won't  run."  "There 
will  be  little  risk."  "I  don't  care  how  little." 
How  neatly  is  finish  given  to  the  part  of  David. 
In  the  closing  scene  he  rushes  in  and  carries  off 
his  master's  pistol. 

Mrs.  Malaprop's  mistake  in  giving  to  Captain 
Absolute  the  wrong  letter — one  addressed  to 
her  as  the  "  Divine  Delia  " — is  a  comical  addi- 
tion. Her  speech  has  a  few  new  turns :  "  He  is 
as  graceful  as  a  young  gazette,"  "  Patience  on  a 
mantelpiece,"  "  circumscribe  me,"  "  conjunc- 
tions" instead  of  injunctions,  "you  go  ahead, 
and  I  will  precede  you,"  etc. 

Sir  Anthony  Absolute's  joy  at  his  son's  enter- 
prise in  having  written  of  Mrs.  Malaprop  as  an 


1 88  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

"old  harridan/*  and  so  on,  is  newly  put.  It 
would  require  great  space  to  completely  follow 
out  this  remarkable  work  of  rearrangement  and 
deft  addition.  What  has  been  written  must 
serve  as  a  mere  suggestion  of  the  value  that 
Mr.  Jefferson's  book  of  the  play  will  possess  in 
the  days  to  come. 

Dramatization  is  the  result  of  technical  skill 
applied  to  an  existent  romance  or  written 
material ;  and  it  ranges  from  work  that  is  prac- 
tically original  to  the  merest  hotchpotch.  Some 
of  it  is  scissoring  only,  and  by  a  fortunate  fluke 
may  reach  a  success  upon  which  to  base  false 
reputations.  The  methods  of  the  novel  and  the 
drama  differ  widely,  although  some  novelists 
write  close  to  dramatic  form.  A  playwright  of 
genuine  force  breaks  his  material  into  pot-metal 
and  recasts  it.  Such  work  is  not  unworthy. 
The  plunderer  with  the  scissors,  elated  with  a 
success,  often  claims  the  drama  as  wholly  his 
own,  but  the  internal  evidence  puts  him  to 
shame  infallibly  with  men  who  know  dramatic 
processes.  It  is  difficult  to  dramatize  Dickens, 
for  it  is  impossible  to  exclude  his  quaint  genius, 
as  paradoxically  desirous  as  that  may  seem.  It 
is  the  same  difficulty  that  history  presents  in 
cases.  Where  the  novelist  is  not  familiar  the 
drama  may  prevail.  In  any  event,  the  drama 


Adaptation  and  Dramatisation.         189 

must  stand  on  its  own  merits  and  be  complete 
in  itself.  It  is  as  independent  of  its  source  as  a 
child  is  of  its  parents  after  it  reaches  its  major- 
ity. The  critic  or  the  public  that  relies  upon 
the  novel  for  information  or  pleasure  at  a  per- 
formance,  or  the  author  who  leaves  any  part  of 
the  play  to  this  knowledge,  is  at  fault.  A  drama 
is  a  drama  by  its  own  right,  or  it  is  nothing.  It 
is  a  custom  in  France  for  an  author  to  write  the 
novel  and  then  turn  it  into  a  drama. 

Methods  of  adaptation  may  be  observed  by  ^  „ 
a  comparison  of  the  various  stage  editions  of 
Shakspere's  plays.  See  also  such  adaptations 
as  that  of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher's  "  Maid's 
Tragedy/'  under  the  title  of  "  The  Bridal/1  by 
Sheridan  Knowles  and  Macready. 

Some  of  the  dramas  of  Brougham,  Boucicault, 
and  Buckstone,  compared  with  the  originals,  will 
show  exquisite  skill,  while  such  a  piece  as  "  A 
Celebrated  Case  "  is  a  model  as  a  translation,  or 
adaptation  of  language. 

Innumerable  dramatizations  are  easily  acces- 
sible in  the  list  of  several  thousand  plays  pub- 
lished by  Samuel  French.  French  writers  are 
in  the  habit  of  dramatizing  their  own  novels ; 
the  stage  of  the  day  furnishing  constant  exam- 
ples of  their  methods. 

Dumas    first   wrote  "  Camille "   as   a   novel. 


190          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

See  "The  Vicar  of  Wakefield,"  by  Sterling 
Coyne.  There  is  considerable  variation  in  Will's 
dramatization  of  Goldsmith's  story,  as  acted 
by  Henry  Irving,  under  the  title  of  "Olivia." 
Dickens  and  Scott  furnish  abundant  opportuni- 
ties of  comparison  of  the  original  novel  with  the 
dramatization. 

Our  own  stage  is  pretty  well  burdened  with 
things  taken  from  foreign  novels,  without  a  bit 
of  our  bunting  in  them.  There  is  hardly  a  par- 
ticle of  literary  jute  in  them  that  has  not  been 
imported  free  of  duty. 

A  leading  manager  has  testified  in  court  that 
"  all  plays  at  this  time  are  adaptations  and  dram- 
atizations." This  is  not  altogether  true.  The 
expert  can  tell  with  certainty  the  genuineness  of 
a  play.  The  process  of  thought  and  construc- 
tion in  an  honest  play  always  gives  warrant  of 
the  unborrowed  play.  It  is  almost  impossible 
to  deceive  an  observant  critic  in  the  matter. 
And,  at  any  rate,  the  time  has  gone  by  when 
foreign  plays  can  be  stolen  with  lasting  credit 
to  the  rogue. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

FORMS   OF   THE   DRAMA. 

fHE  history  of  the  drama  furnishes  many 
forms  of  construction,  extinct  as  well  as  current, 
and  as  these  proceed  from  the  genius  of  the 
time  allied  with  the  genius  of  the  individual 
writer,  new  forms  more  or  less  distinct  will  con- 
stantly appear.  The  drama  has  need  to  extend 
its  territory.  The  recognized  general  rules  of 
the  drama,  as  herein  discussed,  maintain  a  cer- 
tain authority  in  all  of  them ;  but  each  form  has 
technical  peculiarities.  It  is  not  within  the 
scope  of  a  book  of  general  principles  to  more 
than  indicate  essential  elements  and  differences. 
It  is  proper  to  suggest  at  this  point  that  it  is  in 
the  confusion  of  forms  that  moralists,  managers, 
authors,  actors,  and  critics,  in  their  respective 
functions,  not  infrequently  go  astray  in  their 
judgment,  action,  and  comment.  The  author  of 
genuine  taste  will  keep  within  the  limits  of  the 
form  he  may  have  in  hand,  and  not  mix  styles. 
Plays  are,  in  kind,  either  artificial  or  natural, 
191 


\<)2          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

and  embrace  many  varieties  under  the  general 
divisions  of  tragedy  and  comedy. 

Tragedy:  The  two  great  divisions  of  the 
drama  are  tragedy  and  comedy.  The  two  share 
our  life  and  possess  our  stage. 

Tragedy  is  the  drama  of  serious  purport, 
where  man  is  in  conflict  with  his  passions,  with 
the  chance  of  civil  and  social  law,  with  the  right 
and  wrong  of  circumstance,  in  which  passions, 
law,  and  circumstance  are  stronger  than  the 
individual.  The  Greek  idea  of  destiny  is  prac- 
tically an  equivalent  dramatic  element.  The 
chief  peculiarity  of  tragedy  is  involved  in  the 
discussion  of  the  conclusion  of  a  play  in  Chapter 
III.  Shakspefe's  tragedies  provide  an  inevi- 
table end  for  the  hero ;  and  wherever  a  version 
changing  the  result — as  in  the  case  of  a  happy 
ending  to  "  Romeo  and  Juliet " — has  been  per- 
formed, failure  has  been  the  verdict.  There  is 
nothing  in  tragedy  to  avert  the  doom  of  Mac- 
beth, of  Hamlet,  of  Othello,  and  of  Richard  III. 

Aristotle  says  that  tragedy  "  effects  through 
pity  and  terror  the  refinement  of  these  and 
similar  affections  of  the  soul/'  There  has  been 
much  surmise  over  the  definition  of  "pity 
and  terror "  ;  *  but  instinct  and  taste  may  be  re- 
lied on  to  interpret  the  terms.  In  pure  tragedy 

*  Aristotle. 


Forms  of  the  Drama.  193 

mirth  is  unknown  even  in  the  most  incidental 
passage.  There  is  none  of  it  in  "  Macbeth." 
The  occasional  scenes  with  fools  and  boors  in 
Shakspere  are  imagined  by  some  to  indicate  the 
necessity  of  dashes  of  humor  in  a  play  that  con- 
cerns life  and  death.  It  is  not  so.  There  is  no 
requirement  in  the  law  of  contrast  that  a  clown 
and  a  victim  of  destiny  should  be  coupled. 

It  does  not  so  happen  in  life  as  a  rule.  It 
may  do  so  in  a  given  case ;  then,  let  it.  Even 
melodrama — as  in  "  The  Two  Orphans  " — does 
not  always  require  comical  incidents. 

It  is  one  of  the  dangers  of  mere  technique 
that  a  false  practice  may  prevail  at  times  over 
technique  based  on  principle.  For  example, 
again,  should  an  author  bring  to  a  manager  of 
to-day  a  tragedy  in  which  all  the  causes  and 
bearings  have  led  to  the  legitimate  ending,  he 
may  be  confronted  with  the  objection :  "  You 
have  no  love-interest  in  it ! "  Surely  this  is  only 
a  manager's  decree.  Surely  there  is  no  reason 
why  every  tragedy  must  have  a  love-sick  maid 
in  it,  as  if  pure  manhood  had  fled  the  world,  and 
God  had  no  hand  in  its  affairs. 

Is  there  room  for  a  love-affair  in  "  Macbeth  "  ? 
Is  Cordelia  provided  with  a  courtship  under  the 
moon  in  "Lear"?  Does  Richard  III.  waste 
his  time  in  emotions  of  the  heart  ?  Does  Cupid 


194          Tbe  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

preside  over  the  sessions  of  the  conspirators 
in  "Julius  Caesar"?  Racine's  "Athalie,"  the 
chef-d'oeuvre  of  French  tragedy,  has  no  touch 
of  love.  No,  no;  each  of  these  dramas  has  a 
theme.  Guilty  ambition,  the  ingratitude  of 
children,  the  affairs  of  the  State,  and  each 
theme  in  its  own  right  occupies  the  drama. 

x/Love  does  largely  enter  into  tragedy,  perhaps 
abounds  more  than  any  other  element,  as  we 
have  warrant  from  all  the  list  of  dramas  from 
"Romeo  and  Juliet"  to  "Venice  Preserved" 
and  "Adrienne"  and  countless  more;  but  the 
subject,  as  cannot  be  too  often  said,  controls  the 
treatment.  In  historical  themes  in  particular, 
the  aim  and  purport  is  above  and  beyond  the 
fond  and  trivial  records  of  courtships.  The 
feminine  element  is  almost  inseparable  from  any 
action;  and  the  love  of  mother,  wife,  aud 
daughter  are  not  far  to  seek  in  the  extremities 
of  fate.  It  is  not  to  be  denied  the  managerial 
objection  is  sometimes  correct  in  this  matter, 
but  by  reason  in  the  particular  case.  Thus 
Schiller  was  constrained  to  create  Thecla  in  his 
"Wallenstein." 

Comedy:    Just   as    tragedy   requires  an  in- 
evitable but  just  and  pitiful  ending,  so  a  comedy 

V  must   have  a   happy   conclusion.     In   a   broad 
(  sense,  then,  "  all  that  ends  well "  is  comedy     In 


Forms  of  the  Drama.  195 

a  strict  sense,  comedy  is  a  play  wherein  a  peace- 
ful, orderly,  diverting  complication  of  purposes 
is  agreeably  disentangled.  It  is  obvious  that 
gloom  has  no  place  in  it,  and  however  excellent 
the  play  may  be  in  all  other  respects,  the  purity 
of  its  comedy  is  impaired  by  a  scene  of  death, 
a  serious  quarrel,  or  anything  painful  of  the 
moment  or  in  result.  The  killing  of  young  Van 
Alstyne,  practically  by  his  father,  in  Mr.  Bron- 
son  Howard's  "  Henrietta/'  is  a  case  in  point. 
It  is  a  great  comedy  except  for  that.  Tragedy 
is  nature  in  a  state  of  exaltation.  Comedy  is 
nature  as  we  are  familiar  with  it;  something 
that  any  man  at  all  acquainted  with  happiness 
has  encountered,  or  may  easily  conceive.  The 
moment  the  characters  or  incidents  depart  from 
nature,  that  moment  pure  comedy  ceases,  and 
burlesque  or  farce,  or  whatever  it  may  be,  be- 
gins. The  English  stage  has  what  is  known  as 
the  comedy  of  manners  in  "  The  School  for 
Scandal,"  "The  Rivals,"  "She  Stoops  to  Con- 
quer," etc.,  but,  in  truth,  all  pure  comedy  is 
comedy  of  manners.  It  is  a  truthful  record  of 
the  times,  or  it  falls  into  one  of  the  artificial 
forms.  The  domestic  comedy,  the  sentimental 
comedy,  character  comedy,  comedy  of  intrigue, 
of  conversation,  and  like  classifications,  are  con- 
veniently named  because  of  the  preponderance 


196          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

of  certain  elements.  Schlegel  is  well  worth 
consulting  on  comedy,  and  on  the  question  of 
morality  as  concerned  in  it. 

Artificial  Comedy:  Amusement  being  the 
*-*•'  object  of  comedy,  we  have  the  burlesque  and 
the  parody  of  other  plays  or  scenes  from  them. 
The  English  burlesque  in  the  hands  of  Planche 
reached  great  excellence,  but  its  excessive  pun- 
ning in  clumsy  hands  and  the  general  down- 
ward tendency  have  degraded  it.  Its  verses  are 
usually  clever.  The  characters  borrowed  largely 
from  mythology  fitted  it  to  troops  of  dancing 
and  sportive  women.  It  is  to  be  observed  that 
consistency  of  character  and  the  like  are  not 
important.  Some  of  these  lighter  forms  have 
much  liberty  in  the  acting  by  way  of  familiarity 
with  the  audience.  Topical  songs  and  allusions 
to  matters  of  the  day  are  even  essential. 

The  farce,  born  in  France,  reached  a  success- 
ful point  of  cultivation  in  England,  particularly 
under  John  Maddison  Morton,  who  up  to  1891 
still  lived  to  see  its  technique  wholly  unpracticed, 
if  not  lost.  The  farce  was  a  thing  of  complica- 
tions in  one  or  two  acts,  and  exaggerated  nature 
just  a  trifle  to  gain  effects.  Much  of  the  ma- 
terial left  in  this  vast  deposit  has  enriched  the 
pieces  of  the  latter-day  thieves.  Farce,  like 
•  pure  comedy  in  general,  dependent  on  compli- 


Forms  of  the  Drama.  197 

cations,   requires  no  elaborate   scenery.      Sim-     V s 

plicity  in  this  technical  point  puts  a  long  dis- 
tance between  it  and  the  romantic.  It  is  well 
to  observe  here  that  each  form  of  the  drama  has 
some  such  mark  of  distinction  in  usage. 

Negro  Minstrelsy:  A  native  form  of  drama 
in  the  United  States  is  negro  minstrelsy,  the 
merry  comedy  of  negro  life.  It  has  now  about  i 
passed  away  under  the  stress  of  sentimental 
ballads  and  costumes  of  silk  and  satin.  See 
Hutton's  "  Curiosities  of  the  American  Stage/*  /x 

Farce  Comedy:  An  American  product  that 
has  sprung  up  since  about  1870  is  the  farce 
comedy,  improperly  so  called,  for  it  lacks  the 
sharp  consistency  of  farce  and  the  essential 
naturalness  of  comedy.  It  is  significant  that  it 
has  no  honest  name.  It  is  a  conglomerate  of  I 
acted  anecdotes,  odd  sayings,  burlesqueries  and 
grotesqueries,  gathered  from  all  quarters. 

Those  that  succeed  best  have  a  faint  outline  of 
a  story.  They  harbor  immature  young  women  in 
short  skirts,  abound  in  song  and  dance,  and  could 
not  exist  without  the  special  doings  of  quaint  act- 
ors. The  concoctions  of  Hoyt  have  bits  of  genu- 
ine humor ;  and  the  class,  trivial  as  it  is,  opposed 
to  orderly  art  as  it  is,  must  be  accepted  as  indica- 
tive of  American  genius.  It  may  be  curious  to 
read  after  a  while  that  it  was  accounted  comical 


198          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

and  an  original  bit  of  humor,  to  leave,  by  means 
of  a  mechanical  arrangement,  a  hatchet  sticking 
in  the  head  of  an  enemy,  or  a  friend  for  that 
matter,  as  it  makes  no  difference  in  this  kind  of 
comedy.  In  like  manner  you  crack  a  walnut 
on  the  head  of  a  casual  acquaintance  and  a 
bump  appears.  There  is  no  telling  what  comi- 
cal exaggeration  will  be  encountered.  Does 
not  Dr.  Mulo  Medicus  emerge  from  the  hot 
spring  with  green  hair?  In  "The  Bunch  of 
Keys  "  the  clerk  conveniently  lights  a  match  by 
scraping  it  on  the  bald  head  of  a  guest  as  he 
registers  his  name.  In  Dixey's  "  Adonis  "  an 
organ-grinder's  monkey  wears  a  bell-punch  to 
register  his  collections.  Dixey's  piece  held 
the  constant  attention  of  New  York  for  about 
three  years,  and  challenged  the  amazement  and 
amusement  of  the  British.  Adonis  is  a  statue 
endowed  with  life,  and  until  he  is  recalled  to  his 
pedestal  his  time  is  devoted  to  escaping  from  a 
female  purchaser.  He  permits  the  villain  to 
disarm  him,  and  to  press  against  his  breast  with 
the  foil  might  and  main.  "  Oh,  it  won't  hurt 
me!  My  breast-bone  is  of  marble."  He  imi- 
tates Irving  as  Richard  III.,  coming  on  as  a 
milkman  with  a  can,  and  diverts  his  audience  at 
the  pump.  Engaged  as  a  clerk  at  a  country 
store,  he  assumes  a  new  disguise  for  each  cus- 


Forms  of  the  Drama.  199 

tomer.  One  visitor,  Bunion  Turke,  he  shaves, 
the  cup  used  by  the  barber  being  attached  by 
an  elastic  string  to  the  wall,  and  is  made  to  play 
about  the  customer's  head  in  a  lively  fashion. 
Bunion  must  move  his  head  back  and  forth  to  ac- 
commodate the  brush  held  rigid.  Bunion  wears 
a  tremendous  diamond  on  his  bosom  when  he 
enters,  and  Adonis  sweeps  it  off  and  pockets 
it  with  great  presence  of  mind.  Adonis  tele- 
phones for  a  glass  of  beer,  and  a  moment  later 
opens  the  box  and  gets  it.  Dixey  does  many 
absurd  things,  and  is  in  the  main  diverting; 
while  the  other  characters,  among  which  is  a 
mechanical  mule,  with  a  dangerous  leg  and  the 
semblance  of  a  hog,  to  which  as  it  wanders  on 
Bunion  Turke  addresses  his  always  unfinished 
plaint,  "Te-went-y  years  ago."  This  is  farce- 
comedy.  It  knows  but  one  law — comicality. 

In  Moser's  plays  an  idea  or  sentiment  is 
played  with,  used  for  mechanism,  and  not  seized 
upon  as  a  genuine  thing.  Moser  abandons  the 
theme — as  all  farce- comedies  do — or  lets  lead- 
ing characters  drop  and  brings  forward  subor- 
dinate ones. 

Spectacular  pieces  are  a  mixture  of  all  the 
elements  that  give  opportunity  for  the  display 
of  the  human  form,  with  dancing,  processions, 
basses,  scenic  and  musical  effects.  By  nature 


: 


200          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

they  are  romantic  or  melodramatic,  fantastic  and 
allegorical,  derived  from  fable  or  story,  drawn 
from  remote  times  and  lands. 

The  opera  is  a  drama  of  slight  but  often 
1  concentrated  texture,  in  which  the  emotions  are 
largely  interpreted  by  music. 

It  invites  absurdities  that  are  taken  seriously, 

*r     for  song  in  life  is  an  absurd  means  of  discourse 

to  begin  with ;   but  it  all  illustrates  how  far  the 

imagination  will  go  in  reconciling  the  improb- 

l/   able  and  the  impossible  with  the  necessities  of 

a  stage  and  the  technique  of  any  form  of  the 

drama.      Breadth    of    treatment    is    its    rule. 

Scribe's   librettos  *   are    models.     It  is  largely 

I  spectacular  in  nature,  and  the  lighter  forms  of 

opera,  requiring  ballets,  color  in  costume,  etc., 

are  generally  based  on  material  not  too  close  to 

our  daily  life. 

The  vaudeville  is  more  practical.  Song  and 
dance  are  old  adjuncts  to  the  lighter  forms  of 
the  drama. 

The  pantomime  and  the  ballet  are  usually 
combined.  The  pantomime  is  drama  in  mute 
performance,  and  consequently  limited  in  effects. 
On  the  Continent  it  is  a  distinguished  branch  of 
art,  and  the  dancing  of  the  ballet  has  innumer- 
able expressive  forms. 

*  Librettos  by  Scribe. 


Forms  of  the  Drama.  201 

The  Offenbach  opera.  The  light-hearted 
genius  of  Paris  composed  a  new  style  of  opera 
for  the  general  merriment  of  the  world.  Who 
can  describe  the  surprises,  the  quaintness  of  song, 
the  drolleries  of  action  of  the  Offenbach  school  ? 
It  was  the  intoxicating  wine  of  music.  Gladstone, 
when  premier  of  England,  found  time  to  say  that 
the  world  owed  as  much  in  its  civilization  to 
the  discovery  of  the  fiddle  as  it  did  to  steam. 

This  cannot  be  applied  in  its  whole  sense  to 
Offenbach,  but  this  master  of  satire  and  the 
sensuous  certainly  expressed  his  times.  He  set 
laughter  to  song.  It  was  democratic.  It  spared 
not  king,  courtier,  or  the  rabble.  It  was  wisdom 
and  sentiment  in  disguise.  It  was  born  among 
despotisms,  and  jested  when  kingdoms  fell.  It 
was  the  stalking  horse  behind  which  Offenbach 
hunted  the  follies  of  the  day  and  bagged  the 
absurdities  of  the  hour.  If  it  had  double  enten- 
dre, its  existence  had  a  double  meaning.  Its 
music  and  purpose  defied  national  prejudices. 
Under  its  laughter-compelling  notes  the  sober 
bass-viol  put  on  a  merry  disposition,  and  your 
cornet- a-piston  became  a  wag.  It  was  flippant, 
the  glorification  of  youthful  mirth  and  feelings, 
and  it  made  many  a  melancholy  Jacques  sing 
again  the  song  of  Beranger, 

"  Comme  je  regrette  ma  jam  be  si  dodu." 


2O2  The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

It  is  not  the  purpose  here  to  commend  its 
delirious  dances,  but  to  admit  that  there  was 
genius  in  it.  In  a  technical  sense  the  dramatic 
part  of  them  are  models  compared  with  the 
inane  and  vague  compositions  of  a  later  school. 

The  opera  boufTe  is  in  a  stage  beyond  de- 
cadence, and  no  longer  regards  consistency,  even 
of  nonsense,  in  its  dramatic  elements.  Some  of 
the  conventionalisms  of  its  technique  remain. 

We  hear  again  and  again  the  old  choruses, 
the  drinking  songs,  the  letter  songs,  the  wine 
songs,  the  conspirators'  songs,  the  departure  for 
the  war,  the  lovers'  duets,  and  what-not,  with 
the  old  goblets,  the  old  helmets  and  all  in  use ; 
but  order  is  lost,  and  the  topical  song  often  saves 
the  public  patience,  apart  from  the  disjecta  mem- 
bra, upon  which  are  fed  the  eye  and  the  ear. 

The  Gilbert  opera.  The  delicate  foolery  of 
Gilbert  and  the  interpreting  melody  of  Sullivan 
created  an  inimitable  form  of  opera  that  de- 
lighted its  generation.  In  its  way  perfection 
marks  it.  There  is  much  in  it  that  ministers 
to  inward  quiet  and  enjoyment.  "  Pinafore," 
"The  Mikado,"  and  all  the  list,  are  products 
of  genius.  "  Ruddygore  "  is  structurally  weak, 
proving  that  even  nonsense  must  have  a  logical 
treatment.  Successful  in  a  manner  as  "Rud- 
dygore" was,  it  was  filled  with  characteristic 


Forms  of  the  Drama.  203 

quaintness.  We  accept  Rose  Maybud  as  a 
piece  of  good  luck,  from  the  moment  her  mod- 
est slippers  demurely  patter  to  the  front ;  and 
it  is  a  sober  statement  to  say  that  our  genera- 
tion has  seen  nothing  more  charming  than  her 
artful  artlessness  and  innocence.  She  is  worthy 
of  Gilbert.  His  taste  is  refined  beyond  the 
point  of  vulgarity  in  essence  or  by  way  of  ex- 
pediency. His  fancy  is  not  tainted  with  the 
corruption  of  flesh-tight  limbs,  and  he  holds  fast 
only  to  such  physical  allurements  as  the  "  three 
little  maids  just  from  school "  in  the  "  Mikado  " 
or  the  impossibly  good  and  dainty  Rose  May- 
bud  may  tempt  us  with.  In  the  dance  there  is  , 
no  lasciviousness,  only  joy.  Gilbert  and  Sulli- 
van have  called  a  halt  to  the  can-can  and  bid 
the  world  be  decent.  The  whole  history  of 
comic  opera  is  filled  with  proof  that  music  first 
consented  to  lend  itself  to  foolery  on  condition 
that  there  should  be  some  heart  in  it ;  and  even 
Offenbach,  the  patriarch  of  libidinous  absurdi- 
ties, could  not  get  along  without  stopping  by 
the  wayside  to  make  his  sinners  sing  love-songs 
filled  with  pure  emotion. 

Rose  Maybud  is  a  piece  of  delicate  coquetry 
with  the  mysterious  simplicity  of  maidenhood, 
giving  offense  in  no  way.  These  authors  are 
satirists,  not  burlesquers  and  fakirs. 


2O4          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

The  historical  play.  A  dignified  and  worthy 
branch  of  the  dramatic  art  is  the  historical  play. 
The  mere  reproduction  of  archaeology  is  not 
dramatic,  for  it  is  only  the  human  that  is  so. 
The  historical  is  beset  with  difficulties.  The 
drama  cannot  safely  and  honestly  controvert 
history,  and  the  chosen  material  must  be  pretty 
much  complete  in  itself.  In  an  invented  story, 
not  historical  in  nature,  the  author  can  exclude 
all  disturbing  preconceptions.  The  historical 
character  is  usually  too  diffuse.  The  incidents 
and  scope  of  a  career  extend  beyond  the  dram- 
atist's canvas.  Where  the  life  has  one  dra- 
matic moment,  with  which  the  popular  mind 
alone  concerns  itself,  the  dramatist  has  a  perfect 
property.  Thus  Queen  Mary,  Joan  of  Arc,  Char- 
lotte Corday,  Mary  Antoinette,  old  John  Brown, 
William  Tell,  and  scores  of  others,  are  apt  sub- 
jects. It  would  be  difficult,  on  the  other  hand, 
to  make  anything  out  of  Frederick  the  Great, 
or  the  great  Napoleon.  Incidents  in  their  lives 
may  furnish  plays,  but  these  must  be  sketchy 
and  fragmentary.  After  the  lapse  of  time  the 
public  vision  narrows,  and  Abraham  Lincoln 
liberating  the  slaves  may  admit  of  a  romance 
and  action.  It  is,  however,  not  the  lapse  of 
time  only.  The  principle  is  unity  of  purpose 
and  deed  in  that  life  and  the  absence  of  con- 


Forms  of  the  Drama.  205 

troverting  general  knowledge.  The  invented 
story  may  be  as  true  history  as  anything  in  the 
record.  One  can't  make  a  comedy  figure  out 
of  Marie  Antoinette — it  has  been  tried — or  of 
Mary  Stuart.  The  historical  idea  will  have  its 
own.  It  does  not  matter  how  important  or 
interesting  characters  or  events  are  historically, 
if  not  dramatic  in  incident,  length,  and  breadth, 
they  are  not  suited  for  a  play. 

The  romantic  drama.  The  drama  of  Shak- 
spere  and  his  circle  is  Gothic  in  structure  as  com- 
pared with  the  classic  forms  of  the  French  stage. 
They  are  also  essentially  romantic.  Remoteness 
of  time  or  country  is,  to  a  great  extent,  essen- 
tial. Possibilities  become  realities,  and  we  do 
not  set  up  a  close  rule  of  probability. 

Romantic  plays  by  preference  are  verse ;  but 
the  language  of  the  Elizabethan  poets  is  lost. 
The  music  in  Shakspere  is  constitutional.  A 
book  on  blank  verse  is  extant.  The  writers  of 
the  school  of  Sheridan  Knowles  fell  into  a  tech- 
nical requirement  that  is  peculiar  to  them — op- 
portunities for  declamation,  such  as  the  descrip- 
tion of  the  hunt  by  Constance  in  "  The  Love 
Chase,"  passages  in  "The  Wife,"  etc.  There 
is  a  good  deal  of  poetic  nonsense  in  all  of  them, 
such  as  in  "  The  Lady  of  Lyons,"  where  we  find 
the  expressions  "  a  spirit  of  bloom  "  and  "  the 


206          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

shadow  of  the  dear  starlight  of  thy  haunting 
eyes/*  "The  Honeymoon "  is  full  of  it.  This 
form  of  verse  holds  to  "  thee  "  and  "  thou  "  and 
all  manner  of  archaisms. 

Much  that  bears  on  the  romantic  play  is 
treated  under  the  head  of  the  probable.  We 
have  the  truly  romantic,  as  in  Shakspere,  and 
the  pseudo-romantic,  as  in  "  Ruy  Bias/*  and 
lesser  things. 

In  the  main  the  purpose  is  to  sow  spiritual 
things.  The  romantic  is  an  element  that  has 
its  place.  The  plays  built  of  air-castles  get  us 
away  from  the  realities  of  life. 

The  melodrama,  with  greater  breadth  of 
treatment  and  insistence  on  situation,  is  closely 
related  to  the  romantic.  Custom  has  made  the 
admixture  of  humor  a  technical  requirement. 
This  marks  a  strong  distinction  between  it  and 
tragedy.  Melodrama  keeps  pace  with  the  life 
of  the  day  and  is  a  durable  form.  The  story, 
appealing  largely  to  the  imagination,  often 
jumps  safely  over  much  detail. 

There  is  not  much  good  healthy  English 
melodrama.  The  soil  is  deep,  but  the  harvest 
is  poor  in  quality.  The  tendency  is  to  be 
brutal  in  order  to  make  a  theatrical  point.  The 
author  of  "  The  Wages  of  Sin,"  "  Ring  of  Iron," 
and  "  Woman  against  Woman,"  with  the  brawn 


Forms  of  the  Drama.  207 

of  a  blacksmith  forges  strong  plays  of  the  sort. 
Unmerciful  he  is  to  a  degree.  See  how  he  puts 
his  boot-heel  on  virtue,  and  note  how  he  lets 
the  flickering  tongue  of  scandal  do  its  fatal 
work.  He  seems  to  be  an  imperfect  nature, 
writing  with  an  iron  hand,  like  some  literary 
Goetz  von  Berlichingen.  He  is  a  dragon  of 
unpleasant  truths. 

In  "  Woman  against  Woman,1'  a  wife  is  sus- 
pected of  being  the  mother  of  a  child  not  born 
in  the  neighborhood  of  the  statute,  but  really 
trie  incorporation  of  the  moral  views  of  her 
sister.  The  sister  is  married  to  a  lord,  and  to 
protect  her — unworthy  in  every  way — the  hero- 
ine sticks  to  a  lie  at  the  expense  of  her  own 
happiness  and  that  of  every  other  person. 
These  are  hot  plowshares  of  brutality. 

Melodrama,  while  often  romantic,  is  usually 
of  coarser  texture  than  the  romantic  proper,  and 
always  involves  deadly  peril  in  its  critical  situa- 
tions, which  are  suggested  and  emphasized  by 
a  certain  touch  of  music — melosy  the  Greek 
word  for  music,  furnishing  the  first  part  of  the 
compound  name.  It  is  the  semi-tragedy  of  life.  . 

The  best  type  of  the  melodrama  is  furnished 
by  the  French  stage.  If  "  Lagardere "  were 
considered  with  reference  to  the  crime  in  it — 
if  one  should  imagine  that  the  strictures  on  the 


208          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

story  of  Gwynne  in  Chapter  II.  are  based  on  the 
fallacy  that  "  crime  "  is  not  fit  dramatic  material 
— it  should  be  condemned  with  tenfold  the  ve- 
hemence. It  is,  on  the  contrary,  filled  with  ten 
delightful  murders ;  two  weaklings  are  spared  by 
virtue  of  their  cowardice,  and  perhaps  one  or  two 
more  killings  were  judicious.  But  our  homes  are 
not  touched  in  the  play  of  Bourgeois  and  Feval. 
We  accept  the  story  laid  in  the  romantic  days 
of  the  year  1 700. 

The  element  of  suspense  is  wonderfully  illus- 
trated in  this  drama  of  action,  that  leaps  from 
its  prologue  to  its  first  act  over  a  lapse  of  six- 
teen years  without  a  boggle;  that  traverses 
mountains,  fights  in  moats,  and  gets  its  hero  into 
close  quarters  in  his  enemy's  lodgings,  and  lets 
him  out  triumphantly  by  lifting  a  drop  and 
converting  the  scene  into  the  ante- chamber  of 
the  Prince  Regent.  Sympathize  with  "  Lagar- 
dere  "  ?  If  played  right  you  do,  but  the  actors 
all  must  know,  as  it  were,  the  secret  thrust  of 
Lagardere.  The  movement  must  be  so  quick 
that  we  ask  nothing  of  the  probabilities.  It 
must  be  like  the  flaming  sword  of  the  Sergeant 
in  "  Far  from  the  Madding  Crowd,"  or  the  battle- 
ax  of  Umslopogaas.  We  see  the  effect.  "  La- 
gardere "  is  the  work  of  an  "  impressionist. "  It 
must  be  presented  at  the  right  point  of  view. 


Forms  of  the  Drama.  209 

The  production     needs    slashing   quickness   of 
action. 

It  could  be  easily  demonstrated  by  an  analy- 
sis of  the  play  that  its  magic  lies  in  the  way  it 
is  acted.  Slow  work  is  fatal.  In  reading  it, 
one  ponders  in  vain  to  make  out  the  coherency. 
It  violates  all  common  rules.  Perhaps  the  re- 
ceptive processes  of  the  generation  are  slower 
than  they  were  when  the  romantic  drama  flour- 
ished. Yet  how  readily  we  accept  the  reason- 
ableness of  the  Duchess  de  Nevers  remaining 
a  recluse  in  her  chamber  for  seventeen  years. 
How  quickly  we  forget  the  contradiction  of  pur- 
pose in  Gonzague,  who  is  seeking  for  a  false 
daughter  in  the  place  of  the  lost  Blanche,  where 
it  is  to  his  interest  not  to  find  her — and  yet  he 
is  seeking  her.  In  a  few  weeks  her  husband, 
the  Duke  de  Gonzague,  is  empowered  to  call 
together  a  family  council,  and  if  by  then  the 
child  is  not  found,  "  the  estate  passes  to  the 
mother,  and  through  her  to  him.'*  But  some- 
how we  accept  it  all.  We  watch  the  thrust  of 
Lagardere's  blade  with  a  thrilling  God-speed. 
Why  ?  Because  we  accept  the  romantic  prem- 
ises. We  enlist — we  volunteer — with  Lagar- 
dere  for  the  war.  It  is  a  question  of  theatrical 
illusion,  and  not  of  morals  or  taste.  There  is  a 
volume  in  the  distinction.  We  had  a  starting- 


210          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

point  of  interest  in  "  Lagardere."     We  had  none 
in  the  story  of  Gwynne. 

A  curious  error  is  the  belief,  sometimes  en- 
countered, that  romanticism  and  complication  of 
plot  are  the  same  things.  On  the  contrary,  such 
stories  as  "  Paul  and  Virginia,"  "  Picciola,"  that 
have  stirred  the  world,  are  exceedingly  simple. 
The  romantic  is  usually  remote  from  common 
life.  In  Germany  the  negro  in  his  savage  state 
is  a  favorite  theme  for  poetry,  etc. 
£/  Mere  romance  as  material  is  misleading,  for 
very  commonplace  people  have  romantic  lives, 
or  a  series  of  romantic  events  to  happen  to 
them,  as  in  "Arabian  Nights."  The  romance 
in  a  drama  must  be  inherent  and  not  accidental. 

To  this  muster  of  the  forms  of  the  drama 
very  many  other  classifications  might  be  added, 
the  foreign  stage  abounding  in  distinctions,  but 
chiefly  the  purpose  has  been  to  make  clear  that 
the  character  of  a  play  is  determined  by  the 
preponderance  of  some  one  or  more  elements. 
The  theme  dictates  its  own  terms  as  to  tone, 
spirit,  and  proportions,  while  all  may  be  freely 
adapted  to  the  general  laws  of  dramatic  con- 
struction. Reference  to  the  best  examples  of 
the  various  classes  accessible  in  published  form 
will  enable  the  student  to  better  arrive  at  their 
characteristic  distinctions. 


Forms  of  the  Drama.  211 

Even  in  the  same  forms  there  may  be  differ- 
ences of  treatment;  consequently,  one  should 
read  a  manuscript  play  worthy  of  attention  many 
times  before  judgment.  It  depends  on  where  the 
power  lies.  It  may  be  in  a  character — accom- 
plished by  breadth — simplicity  in  the  story  and 
detail  in  the  treatment.  So  that  very  often  the 
better  the  play  the  less  you  understand  its  tech- 
nical values  at  a  reading. 

There  are  character  plays  and  plays  of  plot; 
subjective  and  objective  plays ;    plays  for  the  £ 
eye,  the  ear,  and   emotion,  laughter;    physio- 
logical, ideal,  and  realistic  plays,  etc.,  and  finally 
— chaos. 

It  is  best  to  write  for  the  times.  It  would  be 
well  if  we  had  a  repertory  theatre,  but  neither 
London  nor  New  York  has.  New  York,  in  par- 
ticular, no  longer  revives  plays  from  the  dead. 
Everything  is  for  the  moment.  Art  might  fare 
better  if  the  stock-company  system  and  some 
regard  for  the  old  and  the  newly  classic  pre- 
vailed. But  lacking  them,  the  constant  cry  is 
for  newness. 


CHAPTER  X. 

CRITICISM. 

THE  critical  temperament  is  kindly  and  for- 
giving; it  exalts  the  true,  kindles  the  fire  of 
timid  hearts  in  capable  breasts,  and  is  only  fierce 
in  words  of  dispraise  where  presumptuous  imbe- 
cility uses  a  false  authority  to  mislead.  It  pities 
stupidity,  and  punishes  it  as  a  crime  only  when 
it  becomes  a  danger.  Having  all  the  warmth 
of  a  writer  who  is  all  disproportion,  the  one  with 
the  critical  temperament  has  the  judicial  mind 
that  gives  value  to  praise  and  weight  to  censure. 
It  is  no  part  of  its  duty  always  to  add  to  the  dis- 
comforts of  artistic  failure  and  the  loss  of  manage- 
rial money  by  dwelling  on  obvious  incompetency 
in  production  or  stupidity  in  matters  of  judgment. 
It  withholds  the  easy  jest,  and  the  good  word 
of  cheer  is  oftener  spoken  than  the  dispraise 
that  would  serve  no  just  purpose ;  but  it  stands 
between  the  players  and  the  public,  and  its  duty 
to  that  public  sometimes  demands  plainer  speak- 
ing than  is  agreeable  to  those  in  the  responsible 


Criticism.  213 

charge  of  furnishing  the  entertainment  that  is 
such  a  material  part  of  modern  life.  There  is 
this  peculiarity  incident  to  all  criticism,  that 
genuine  feeling  cannot  be  simulated;  and  the 
rudest  pen  manifests  grace  when  the  heart  simply 
tells  what  it  has  in  turn  been  told.  The  truest 
words  have  been  written  about  the  greatest 
actors,  where  the  critic  was  content  to  be  but 
the  reporter.  Thus,  technical  knowledge  is  not 
wholly  the  best  requisite,  and  all  that  a  manager 
and  the  public  can  ask  from  the  competent 
critic  anywhere  is  sincerity.  Let  him  not  be 
warped  by  his  learning,  nor  turned  aside  by  the 
influences  within  and  around  him. 

When  Charles  Lamb  wrote  of  Mrs.  Jordan's 
Viola,  he  not  only  contributed  to  our  knowledge 
and  our  perfect  understanding  perhaps  the  most 
striking  picture  of  an  actress  in  all  the  literature 
of  the  stage,  but  he  gave  to  us  that  passage  in 
his  writings  that  most  commends  him  to  our 
hearts.  The  gentle  Elia  said:  "Those  who 
have  only  seen  Mrs.  Jordan  within  the  last  ten 
or  fifteen  years  can  have  no  adequate  notion  of 
her  performances  of  such  parts  as  Ophelia, 
Helena,  in  'All's  Well  That  Ends  Well/  and 
Viola  in  this  play.  Her  voice  had  lately  ac- 
quired a  coarseness  which  suited  well  enough 
with  her  Nells  and  hoidens,  but  in  those  days  it 


214          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

sank,  with  her  steady  and  melting  eye,  into  the 
heart.  Her  joyous  parts — in  which  her  memory 
now  chiefly  lives — in  her  youth  were  outdone 
by  her  plaintive  ones.  There  is  no  giving  an 
account  how  she  delivered  the  disguised  story 
of  her  love  for  Orsino.  She  used  no  rhetoric  in 
her  passion;  or,  it  was  nature's  own  rhetoric, 
most  legitimate  then  when  it  seemed  altogether 
without  rule  or  law." 

There  is  in  this  exquisite  sentence  of  true 
criticism  the  music  of  truth.  Somehow,  no  man 
knows,  it  contains  all  the  plaintive  sweetness  of 
the  hidden  love,  revealed  to  the  hapless  actress, 
who  had  the  inner  vision  of  Shakspere's  meaning. 

This  is  the  critical  temperament  in  its  best 
illustration.  Hazlitt  had  the  same  faculty.  The 
race  of  great  actors  obtained  full  response  from 
men  with  that  fine  instinct  that  makes  the  critic, 
rather  than  mere  knowledge.  Even  when  he 
goes  astray  the  receptive  critic  has  a  merit 
unknown  to  the  arbiters  who  disdain  sentiment, 
as  if  it  were  a  corrupter  of  the  mind  and  false  to 
analysis. 

The  individual  theatre-goer  loves  an  honest 
criticism,  and  as  criticisms  are  widely  read,  the 
word  of  disapprobation  for  stupidity  or  falseness 
of  any  kind  in  the  art  or  in  the  intent  are  sure 
to  go  home  to  an  appreciative  reader.  Of  all 


Criticism.  2  \  5 

writers  for  the  press,  a  critic  does  not  preach  in 
the  wilderness.  The  theatre-goer  loves  to  be 
strengthened  in  correct  views,  and  likes  the 
explanation  of  doubts  that  rise  in  his  own  mind, 
and  wishes  to  have  shown  to  him  why  he  revolted 
against  this  and  that. 

Criticism  is  absolutely  essential  to  public 
morals  and  public  taste.  It  is  a  guide  to  the 
people  and  a  protector  of  the  realm.  Its  re- 
sponsibilities really  require  as  high  character 
and  as  strong  force  as  the  staff  of  a  newspaper 
possesses.  It  is  an  honorable  service,  and  a  life 
like  that  of  William  Winter,  devoted  to  the  work 
of  criticism,  will  be  rewarded  with  a  memory 
not  inferior  to  that  of  Hazlitt  or  Lamb.  His 
writing  has  been  more  voluminous  and  more 
exacting  than  theirs. 

Others  of  the  period  of  William  Winter  have 
record  of  distinction;  but  an  important  part  of 
Winter's  work  has  found  its  way  into  book  form, 
and  thus  belongs  to  the  permanent  literature 
of  the  stage.  In  England  Clement  Scott  and 
others,  as  members  of  that  higher  court  that  de- 
termines all  merit,  exercise  their  functions  worth- 
ily ;  while  Jules  Le  Maitre,  Francesque  Sarcey, 
and  others  in  France  sustain  art  in  its  purity. 

In  point  of  fact,  the  managers  could  not  exist 
without  the  very  frankness  of  comment  which 


216          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

so  often  calls  them  back  to  reason.  They  would 
be  bankrupt  in  a  season  or  two  without  this 
wholesome  correction.  The  truth  about  a  play 
is  what  should  be  told  at  all  times.  It  is  true 
that  a  criticism,  unless  far  more  exhaustive  than 
time  usually  permits  immediately  after  a  first 
performance,  can  only  be  a  statement  of  a  part 
of  the  case.  A  criticism,  then,  should  aim  at 
proportion  within  limits.  Its  qualifications 
should  be  distinct.  It  should  not  mislead  either 
by  censure  or  praise.  The  seat  of  criticism  is 
naturally  at  the  centre  of  dramatic  art ;  as  Lon- 
don, Paris,  New  York ;  and  there  it  has  peculiar 
difficulties,  such  as  arise,  for  example,  from  the 
associations  of  club  life,  operative  in  various 
ways,  and  a  certain  provincialism  of  likes  and 
dislikes.  It  is  a  newspaper  instinct  and  the  crit- 
ic's duty  to  be  true  to  the  public.  It  is  no  part 
of  this  book  to  attempt  universal  instruction  in 
these  matters.  It  essays  only  comment  on  the 
value  of  the  work  and  certain  qualities  that  ob- 
viously belong  to  the  exercise  of  its  power. 

Criticism  is  at  fault  that  searches  out  minor 
faults.  Such  things  belong  to  the  limitations  of 
art,  and  are  to  be  discussed  in  the  workshop. 
The  matter  that  concerns  the  public  is  the  sum 
of  all  the  impressions — that  which  it  carries 
away  as  a  reminiscence,  and  not  a  possibly  un- 


Criticism.  217 

avoidable  technical  defect  that  it  would  not  see 
unless  it  were  pointed  out. 

Where  a  fault  is  worthy  of  attention  censure 
should  be  sustained  by  proof — otherwise  it  is 
discredited  often  enough  by  the  reader,  and 
always  by  the  actor.  The  well-trained  critic 
knows  his  theme  as  well  as  the  actor  knows  his 
business,  and  it  is  a  common  experience  with 
him  to  have  his  comments  treated  as  an  imper- 
tinence. In  the  plays  of  Shakspere  this  is  par- 
ticularly true.  Your  man  of  the  stage  persuades 
himself  that  he  has  gained  a  peculiar  franchise 
in  producing  a  piece  that  is  common  property. 
Yet  Shakspere  requires  the  highest  measure  of 
criticism. 

Every  play  should  be  criticised  after  its  kind, 
and  every  actor  after  his  style.  It  should  be 
observed  that  there  is  a  vast  difference  between 
manner  and  mannerism.  There  is  an  end  of  all 
just  criticism  and  of  all  progression  and  freedom 
in  art  where  fixity  of  manner  is  insisted  upon. 
An  idea  should  be  expressed  in  the  way  fittest 
for  the  actor.  That  he  may  be  unsuited  to  a 
part  is  also  true.  This  does  not  preclude  an 
actor  of  genius  from  following  tradition  in  the 
main  in  some  given  performance. 

It  is  an  error  for  manager  and  actor  to  take 
refuge  against  criticism  in  believing  that  it  is 


218          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

only  one  man's  opinion.  It  is  usually  the 
world's  opinion ;  and  if  it  is  not,  the  disproof  is 
at  hand.  All  criticism  may  be  wrong  in  a  given 
case,  but  it  will  be  an  accident.  There  is  abun- 
dant false  judgment,  for  that  matter.  Perhaps 
the  greatest  danger  to  good  judgment  is  the 
fact  that  a  centre  of  art,  being  at  the  van,  too 
quickly  lays  aside  old  forms.  If  Sardou  is  in 
power  at  the  leading  theatres,  work  not  on  his 
model  is  not  sufficiently  regarded.  There  are 
so  many  kinds  of  dramas,  old  and  new,  that  the 
latest  techniques  should  not  be  subversive  of  all 
else  that  is  good.  Moreover,  the  best  function 
of  criticism  is  not  in  finding  fault,  but  in  uphold- 
ing the  good. 

Hypercriticism  is  an  odious  evil.  Art  has 
so  much  to  contend  against  in  America,  lack  of 
subvention  and  the  rareness  of  the  stock  system, 
that  it  is  hard  indeed  for  it  to  have  to  silently 
suffer  critical  falsities ;  and  unnecessary  criticism 
is  as  bad  as  the  untrue.  Hypercriticism  could 
busy  itself  with  Shakspere.  Benedix,  the  Ger- 
man dramatist,  wrote  a  book  against  him. 

The  amount  of  criticism  to  be  given  to  a  play 
should  not  depend  upon  the  "importance"  of 
the  piece.  The  play  may  be  a  dire  failure,  and 
"  beneath  criticism  "  for  the  writer  who  is  not 
moved  to  do  his  full  duty  to  the  public.  In 


Criticism.  219 

fact,  opportunity  for  the  most  useful  critical 
work  may  be  furnished  by  a  play  of  no  moment. 
One  of  the  most  uncertain  elements  to  be  en- 
countered on  the  road  by  a  theatrical  manager 
is  the  manner  of  his  reception  by  the  press, 
particularly  of  the  smaller  but  growing  and 
ambitious  towns,  where  dramatic  criticism  is 
undergoing  the  process  of  development.  It  is  a 
curious  condition  of  affairs,  but  regarded  from  a 
business  point  of  view  it  is  not  without  its  com- 
pensations. The  fortunate  circumstance  that 
there  is  no  uniformity  of  journalistic  judgment 
sustains  the  weaklings  of  the  profession.  If  the 
stuffed  club  of  criticism  were  laid  with  unerring 
justice  on  every  back  that  invited  blows,  many 
a  Thespian,  deserving  enough  personally,  would 
hunger  more  than  he  does,  and  many  a  wretched 
combination  would  experience  tragedy  in  its 
real  form.  It  is  a  strange  confusion  on  all  sides. 
The  unknowingness  or  the  charity  of  the  critic 
is  met  by  the  most  persistent  self-esteem  of  the 
actor.  The  life  of  the  player  is  at  best  one  of 
delusions,  where  the  chief  delight  is  flattery. 
No  actor  can  be  so  poor  in  his  art,  no  manager 
so  thoroughly  convinced  of  the  inferiority  of  his 
attraction,  as  to  accept  truth  from  a  critic  "  on 
the  road."  Criticism  is  not  regarded  as  the 
proper  function  of  the  rural  press.  And  yet 


220          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

this  press  may  be  the  very  one  that  hits  the  nail 
on  the  head,  when  it  has  been  missed  all  along. 
Truth  is  truth  wherever  we  find  it.  It  is  a 
healthful  irregularity.  At  times  your  embryo 
critic  is  fierce,  at  times  wild.  The  road  has 
already  got  to  be  hedged  with  the  tangle-brier 
of  this  flowering  variety.  The  critic  in  a  state 
of  development  has  the  capricious  nature  of  a 
maiden  when  she  begins  to  wear  her  crown  and 
to  feel  her  power  when  she  is  first  sought.  His 
virtue  is  something  that  admits  of  no  smile  from 
the  advance  agent,  that  bold,  bad  man  of  sin. 
He  feels  a  keen  rivalry  with  the  critic  around 
the  corner,  and  generally  knows  what  view  will 
be  advanced  by  that  perverted  individual. 

His  public  expects  from  him  a  degree  of  rhe- 
torical flourish  that  is  best  adapted  to  praise, 
and  to  this  he  is  prone ;  but  his  wrath  may  fall 
on  the  right  spot  in  due  season.  It  is  a  delight 
to  see  the  Eastern  success  that  has  escaped  cen- 
sure by  some  accident  fall  a  prey  to  these  young 
gentlemen  of  the  West  with  moral  sentiments 
and  correct  tastes.  The  true  function  of  the 
reviewer  of  a  public  performance,  in  addition  to 
the  exercise  of  artistic  perceptions,  united  with 
a  knowledge  of  some  system  of  intelligent  anal- 
ysis, is  to  produce  the  effect  experienced  by 
an  audience.  Criticism,  in  the  sense  of  serious 


Criticism.  221 

discussion,  for  example,  is  not  possible  as  to  the 
best  types  of  opera-bouffe — a  species  of  enter- 
tainment that  concerns  the  eye  and  the  ear,  a 
form  of  amusement  that  brings  us  into  personal 
relations  for  the  moment  with  certain  absurd 
figures  of  the  stage.  Its  pre-eminent  quality  is 
folly,  and  this  we  must  not  confront  with  wis- 
dom. The  naive  and  generous  pen  of  the  West- 
ern critic  is  true  to  the  best  methods  when  it 
gracefully  enters  into  descriptive  writing.  It  is 
the  genuine  temperament  subject  to  the  impres- 
sions of  the  moment. 

He  and  his  public  have  the  courage  of  their 
likings,  and  the  generous  confession  of  admira- 
tion for  the  ballet  girl  in  blue  tricot  is  not  less 
creditable  than  the  execration  of  the  misfits  that 
by  some  strange  fatality  accompany  high  art, 
and  that  used  to  be  seen  in  heavy  and  preten- 
tious operas. 

We  need  enthusiasm,  and  the  critic  should 
foster  it.  The  public  is  not  afraid  of  sentiment, 
and  the  critic  should  not  be.  The  public  has 
the  courage  of  its  likings,  and  where  grace,  mel- 
ody, sentiment,  sincerity,  or  what-not  carries  it, 
"  criticism  "  is  the  emptiest  of  vocations.  Surely 
the  public  may  err  at  times,  but  that  is  another 
matter.  Sentiment  is  the  object  of  the  drama, 
and  a  critic  has  no  right  to  be  impassive. 


222  Tbe  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

This  reference  to  criticism  in  the  large  and 
small  towns  apart  from  the  metropolis,  is  to 
emphasize  the  fact  that  there  sometimes  the 
most  valuable  criticism  may  be  found.  It  ap- 
plies to  England  or  any  other  country,  but  in 
particular  to  America,  where  centres  of  popula- 
tion are  increasing,  and  where  critics  of  experi- 
ence and  of  genius  for  their  task  may  be  found. 

In  point  of  fact  the  critic  should  be  a  special- 
ist and  be  permanent  in  his  position — one  of  the 
best  and  most  entertaining  writers  on  the  staff. 
With  the  right  men  in  the  right  place,  the  ver- 
dict of  one  town  will  not  be  reversed  by  the 
verdict  of  another,  except  on  principle. 

There  are  few  perfect  plays  in  a  technical 
sense;  and  even  the  best  are  refracted  by  time. 

It  is  entirely  unprofitable  to  split  hairs  about 
scenes  that  one  has  witnessed  better  done. 
Leave  that  to  the  old  men  who  swear  by  the 
authority  of  their  shrunken  hams,  and  who  are 
testy  on  the  subject  of  Julia  Dean,  Ellen  Tree, 
and  Mrs.  Mowatt.  True  criticism  is  concerned 
with  first  principles  all  the  time. 

A  like  spurious  criticism  is  the  substitution  of 
historical  data  in  the  place  of  present  comment. 
When  a  thing  was  done  at  the  old  Bowery  or 
the  Winter  Garden  or  Drury  Lane  has  nothing 
to  do  with  the  merits  of  the  case. 


Criticism.  223 

The  range  of  criticism  is  as  broad  as  life — 
only  it  is  not  necessary  to  criticise  everything. 
Perfunctory  words  are  an  evil  also.  In  a  re- 
public, where  the  State  does  nothing  for  the 
stage,  the  helpful  offices  of  the  newspaper  critic 
are  of  vast  importance. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

HOW   A   DRAMA   IS   BUILT   UP. — ADVICE  TO 
THE   DRAMATIST. 

IN  seeking  to  be  useful  to  the  dramatic  writer, 
there  is  some  temptation  at  this  point  to  devote 
the  space  to  an  analysis  of  some  familiar  drama, 
giving  the  application  of  the  principles  of  art 
involved  in  its  building ;  but  it  would  require  a 
volume  to  do  this  in  anything  like  a  complete 
manner,  and  when  done  it  would  in  many  of  its 
details  concern  but  one  of  the  many  forms  of 
the  drama.  Once  familiar  with  the  principles, 
the  play-writer  can  use  them.  Let  him  accept 
them  fully  and  without  compromise,  and  by  the 
strength  of  the  faith  that  is  in  him  he  will  soon 
proceed  to  exercise  these  principles  in  good 
works. 

The  dramatic  principles  stated  in  this  book 
are  not  formidable,  and  care  has  been  taken  not 
to  give  them  a  complicated  look  by  a  multitude 
of  numbered  rules  and  subdivisions;  but  the 
writer,  by  much  repetition,  all  proper  enough 
224 


How  a  Drama  is  Built  Up.  225 

in  its  place,  has  sought  to  prefer  with  earnest- 
ness the  conception  that  play-writing  is  above 
all  a  matter  of  common  sense.  Managers  re- 
ceive plays  without  end  from  all  kinds  of  peo- 
ple— from  the  school- girl  to  the  judge  on  the 
bench.  One  would  think  that  they  imagine  a 
play  to  be  something  entirely  apart  from  human 
possibilities ;  something  in  which  the  language 
is  to  be  exceedingly  vulgar  or  exceedingly  fine 
— finer  than  ever  Jove  spake. 

How  a  writer  acquires  an  aptitude  for  any 
form  of  writing  it  is  not  always  easy  to  deter- 
mine. Circumstances  have  much  to  do  with  it, 
and  the  inner  springs  of  his  nature  have  more. 
The  elements  of  any  form  of  writing  may  be 
taught.  There  can  be  no  question  of  that. 
The  simplest  school  rhetoric  will  lay  the  foun- 
dation for  a  style  that  will  charm  mankind.  The 
one  who  is  to  write  the  leaders  in  the  news- 
papers that  are  to  control  public  opinion,  or 
who  is  to  clothe  sentiment  in  a  way  to  touch 
the  general  heart  in  his  books,  is  now  learning 
at  the  schools  how  to  stake  out  a  composition. 
If  the  boy  can  be  taught  to  write  a  composition,  ) 
the  man  can  be  "  taught  to  write  a  play."  Play-  1 
writing  is  a  species  of  composition,  and  it  is 
entirely  proper  for  any  disciple  of  literature  to 
essay  its  principles ;  and  it  is  no  reflection  upon 


226          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

the  genuine  powers  of  his  mind  if  he  discovers 
that  his  aptitude  does  not  lie  in  that  quarter. 

Does  the  young  author  realize  the  significance 
of  a  successful  play?  Does  he  reflect  that  it 
must  be  submitted  first  to  readers  and  managers 
who  are  familiar  with  the  strictest  requirements 
of  art,  and  that  finally,  if  it  reaches  the  great 
public,  it  must  encounter  the  common  sense 
and  the  common  sentiment  of  the  world?  It 
would  seem  not.  You  may  be  sure  that  you 
cannot  hide  a  defect  so  deep  that  it  will  not 
rise  up  against  you.  You  may  be  sure  that  the 
weak  point  that  you  were  dimly  conscious  of  the 
child  may  cry  out  against  in  the  acting,  and  that 
any  variation  from  common  sense  and  common 
morality,  or  whatever  else  the  fault  may  be,  will 
be  discovered.  It  is  a  bright  light  that  beats  on 
the  stage. 

As  a  rule,  the  amateur  writer  may  be  sure 
that  his  subject  has  been  better  treated  by  some 
other  writer,  and  that  the  manager  can  put  his 
hand  on  a  score  of  plays  with  substantially  the 
same  situations. 

The  student  of  principle  will  gam  many  new 
aspects  of  principle  if  he  will  seek  for  himself 
in  plays  illustrations  of  what  is  set  forth  in  this 
book.  Let  him  analyze  Shakspere,  or  take  up 
anything  in  print,  good  or  bad.  There  is  noth- 


How  a  Drama  is  Built  Up.          227 

ing  more  instructive  than  a  cheap  but  effective 
conventional  melodrama.  By  this  large  ac- 
quaintance with  plays  one  also  learns  the  dis- 
tinctions between  the  forms.  These  distinc- 
tions, being  mainly  conventional  and  not  broad 
enough  to  supplant  general  principles  stated  in 
this  book,  are  essential.  The  number  of  acts 
for  a  farce,  the  number  of  songs  to  a  play  that 
will  make  either  an  opera  or  a  vaudeville  out 
of  it,  and  the  like,  must  be  ascertained  by  the 
special  study  indicated.  The  principles  are  mod- 
ified but  never  destroyed  by  these  variations  in 
the  application  of  them. 

The  mental  process  of  evolving  a  drama  out 
of  given  material  could  never  be  the  same  with 
any  two  authors.  The  philosophy  of  the  theme 
and  the  principles  of  construction  might  be  iden- 
tical. Every  true  play  fashioned  under  a  crea- 
tive hand  has  its  germ.  This  germ  may  be  a 
pregnant  and  suggestive  trait  in  some  character, 
a  happening ;  of  personal  knowledge  in  life,  an 
incident  in  history,  a  paragraph  in  a  newspaper 
— in  short,  a  dramatic  idea  from  any  source. 
Charles  Reade  admittedly  sought  with  diligence 
the  history  of  each  day  as  the  press  abundantly 
gathered  its  comedies  and  tragedies.  It  was  a 
newspaper  paragraph  casually  read  that  set 
Schiller's  genius  at  work  on  "  Cabale  und 


228          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

Liebe."  This  germ  of  a  play  is  no  slight 
matter.  If  it  be  a  situation,  climacteric  or  ter- 
minal, the  mind  works  back  to  the  causes.  If 
it  be  a  cause,  the  evolution  proceeds  to  the  logi- 
cal result.  The  way  is  not  always  direct  or  the 
means  always  clear.  Months  of  patient  thought 
and  a  further  time  of  patient  work  may  be 
between  conception  and  completion.  A  period 
of  gestation  is  required.  If  the  thoughts  that 
come  and  go  in  this  time  were  set  down — the 
tentative  things,  the  temptations,  the  mistakes, 
the  vagaries,  and  all  the  mass  of  non-essential 
or  superfluous  material  rejected  for  the  needful 
and  the  true — it  would  teach  the  unskilled  that 
play-writing  is  something  more  than  a  trick. 
The  dramatic  idea  requires  a  knowledge  of  all 
its  possibilities  and  surroundings  as  the  first 
condition.  If  the  play  is  to  concern  itself  with 
high  society,  or  the  slums,  or  the  sailor  ashore, 
or  anarchy,  or  war,  or  the  money- exchange, 
or  what-not — that  subject  is  to  be  mastered. 
It  may  happen  that  you  are  thoroughly  in- 
formed in  the  matter.  It  may  be  involved  in  your 
life.  If  so,  so  much  the  better.  Your  pen  will 
journey  along  with  speed  in  proportion  with 
your  familiarity  with  the  subject.  The  drama 
then  comes  by  way  of  distillation,  drop  by  drop ; 
accidental  things  fall  away,  and  out  of  the  rude 


How  a  Drama  is  Built  Up.  229 

block  the  form  begins  to  appear.  The  process 
of  selection  and  rejection  does  not  end  with  the 
manuscript.  The  weighing  of  every  grain  is 
not  enough,  the  sum  total  must  correspond; 
and  it  requires  an  unerring  mind  to  have  a  per- 
fect balance  before  a  piece  is  given  to  the  pub- 
lic. Careful  dress  rehearsals  may  do  it.  The  / 
rehearsal  is  part  of  the  authorship,  and  there 
he  will  find  a  new  Alp  to  climb.  In  fact,  some 
plays,  as  is  the  history  of  "  Hazel  Kirke,"  are  not 
completed  until  public  opinion  has  been  brought 
to  bear  on  the  performances. 

We  have  seen  that  the  dramatic  idea  may 
be  suggested  by  an  accidental  revelation  of  this, 
that,  or  the  other  part  of  it.  In  like  manner  the 
actual  technical  work  may  begin  at  any  part. 
An  author  may  conceive  a  scene  in  all  of  its  true 
proportions  and  commit  it  to  paper,  leaving  un- 
touched his  chief  situations;  but  at  this  stage 
the  outline  of  the  drama  exists  in  the  poet's 
mind.  If,  by  way  of  comparison,  a  painter  is 
clear  in  mind  and  sure  in  hand,  he  may  not  even 
trace  with  crayon  the  lines  of  proportion  on 
his  canvas.  He  may  begin  at  the  nose  or  the 
eye.  The  principles  are  the  same.  And  so  the 
dramatist  may  choose  his  own  way ;  but  one 
distinction  the  untried  author  must  always  bear 
in  mind :  A  play  is  not  written,  it  is  constructed.  -' 


230          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

This  is  true  primarily  even  of  the  drama  in 
verse. 

Writing  is  dangerously  fluent  because  it  is 
subjective.  Dramatic  speech  is  the  expression 
of  an  author's  research  into  the  minds  of  others. 
The  mental  process  of  the  dramatist  is  not 
necessarily  hesitating  at  all  points,  but  the  un- 
skilled manipulator  of  dramatic  material  must 
reconcile  himself  to  self-denial  and  delays  in 
composition. 

Wilkie  Collins  is  in  such  large  measure  dra- 
matic in  his  novels  that  his  own  account  of  his 
processes  of  thought  in  producing  his  novels 
will  illustrate  what  has  been  herein  suggested. 
He  wrote  in  1887  : 

"  My  first  proceeding  is  to  get  my  central  idea 
— the  pivot  on  which  the  story  turns.  The  cen- 
tral idea  of  '  The  Woman  in  White '  is  the  idea 
of  a  conspiracy  in  private  life,  in  which  circum- 
stances are  so  handled  as  to  rob  a  woman  of  her 
identity  by  confounding  her  with  another  woman 
sufficiently  like  her  in  personal  appearance  to 
answer  the  wicked  purpose.  The  destruction 
of  her  identity  represents  a  first  division  of  the 
story ;  the  recovery  of  her  identity  marks  a 
second  division.  My  central  idea  next  suggests 
some  of  my  chief  characters. 

"  A  clever  devil  must  conduct  the  conspiracy. 


How  a  Drama  is  Built  Up.          231 

Male  devil  or  female  devil  ?  The  sort  of  wicked- 
ness wanted  seems  to  be  a  man's  wickedness. 
Perhaps  a  foreign  man.  Count  Fosco  faintly 
shows  himself  to  me  before  I  know  his  name. 

"  I  let  him  wait,  and  begin  to  think  about  the 
two  women.  They  must  be  both  innocent  and 
both  interesting.  Lady  Clyde  dawns  on  me  as 
one  of  the  innocent  victims.  I  try  to  discover 
the  other — and  fail.  I  try  what  a  walk  will  do 
for  me — and  fail.  I  devote  the  evening  to  a 
new  effort — and  fail.  Experience  tells  me  to 
take  no  more  trouble  about  it,  and  leave  that 
other  woman  to  come  of  her  own  accord.  The 
next  morning,  before  I  have  been  awake  in  my 
bed  for  more  than  ten  minutes,  my  perverse 
brains  set  to  work  without  consulting  me.  Poor 
Anne  Catherick  comes  into  the  room  and  says, 
'Try  me/ 

"  I  have  got  an  idea ;  I  have  got  three  of  my 
characters.  What  is  there  to  do  now?  My 
next  proceeding  is  to  begin  building  up  the 
story.  Here  my  favorite  three  efforts  must 
be  encountered.  First  effort:  to  begin  at  the 
beginning.  Second  effort:  to  keep  the  story 
always  advancing  without  paying  the  smallest 
attention  to  the  serial  division  in  parts,  or  to  the 
book  publications  in  volumes.  Third  effort :  to 
decide  on  the  end.  All  this  is  done,  as  my 


232  The  Technique  of  tbe  Drama. 

father  used  to  paint  his  skies  in  his  famous  sea- 
pieces,  at  one  heat.  As  yet  I  do  not  enter  into 
details;  I  merely  set  up  my  landmarks.  In 
doing  this  the  main  situations  of  the  story  pre- 
sent themselves  in  all  sorts  of  new  aspects. 
These  discoveries  lead  me  nearer  and  nearer  to 
finding  the  right  end.  The  end  being  decided 
on,  I  go  back  again  to  the  beginning,  and  look 
at  it  with  a  new  eye,  and  fail  to  be  satisfied  with 
it.  I  have  yielded  to  the  worst  temptation  that 
besets  a  novelist — the  temptation  to  begin  with 
a  striking  incident,  without  counting  the  cost  in 
the  shape  of  explanations  that  must  and  will 
follow.  These  pests  of  fiction  to  reader  and 
writer  alike  can  only  be  eradicated  in  one  way. 
I  have  already  mentioned  the  way — to  begin  at 
the  beginning.  In  the  case  of  '  The  Woman  in 
White '  I  get  back,  as  I  vainly  believe,  to  the 
true  starting-point  of  the  story.  I  am  now  at 
liberty  to  set  the  new  novel  going,  having,  let 
me  repeat,  no  more  than  an  outline  of  story  and 
characters  before  me,  and  leaving  the  details  in 
each  case  to  the  spur  of  the  moment.  For  a 
week,  as  well  as  I  can  remember,  I  work  for  the 
best  part  of  every  day,  but  not  as  happily  as 
usual.  An  unpleasant  sense  of  something  wrong 
worries  me.  At  the  beginning  of  the  second 
week  a  disheartening  discovery  reveals  itself.  I 


How  a  Drama  is  Built  Up.  233 

have  not  found  the  right  beginning  of  '  The 
Woman  in  White '  yet.  The  scene  of  my  open- 
ing chapters  is  in  Cumberland.  Miss  Fairlie 
(afterward  Lady  Clyde) ;  Mr.  Fairlie,  with  his 
irritable  nerves  and  his  art  treasures ;  Miss  Hal- 
combe  (discovered  suddenly,  like  Anne  Cath- 
erick),  are  all  waiting  the  arrival  of  the  young 
drawing-master,  Walter  Hartright.  No;  this 
won't  do.  The  person  to  be  first  introduced  is 
Anne  Catherick.  She  must  already  be  a  famil- 
iar figure  to  the  reader  when  the  reader  accom- 
panies me  to  Cumberland.  This  is  what  must 
be  done,  but  I  don't  see  how  to  do  it ;  no  new 
idea  comes  to  me ;  I  and  my  manuscript  have 
quarreled  and  don't  speak  to  each  other.  One 
evening  I  happen  to  read  of  a  lunatic  who  has 
escaped  from  an  asylum — a  paragraph  of  a  few 
lines  only  in  a  newspaper.  Instantly  the  idea 
comes  to  me  of  Walter  Hartright's  midnight 
meeting  with  Anne  Catherick,  escaped  from  the 
asylum.  '  The  Woman  in  White '  begins  again, 
and  nobody  will  ever  be  half  as  much  interested 
in  it  now  as  I  am.  From  that  moment  I  have 
done  with  my  miseries.  For  the  next  six 
months  the  pen  goes  on.  It  is  work,  hard  work, 
but  the  harder  the  better,  for  this  excellent 
reason :  the  work  is  its  own  exceeding  great  re- 
ward. As  an  example  of  the  gradual  manner 


234          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

in  which  I  reached  the  development  of  charac- 
ter, I  may  return  for  a  moment  to  Fosco.  The 
making  him  fat  was  an  afterthought;  his  ca- 
naries and  his  white  mice  were  found  next ;  and 
the  most  valuable  discovery  of  all,  his  admira- 
tion of  Miss  Halcombe,  took  its  rise  in  a  convic- 
tion that  he  would  not  be  true  to  nature  unless 
there  was  some  weak  point  somewhere  in  his 
character/' 

Concerning  his  own  manner  of  working,  Ibsen 
says: 

"  When  I  am  writing,  I  must  be  alone ;  if  I 
have  eight  characters  of  a  drama  to  do  with 
I  have  society  enough ;  they  keep  me  busy ;  I 
must  learn  to  know  them.  And  this  process  of 
making  their  acquaintance  is  slow  and  painful. 
I  make,  as  a  rule,  three  casts  of  my  dramas, 
which  differ  considerably  from  each  other.  I 
mean  in  characteristics,  not  in  the  course  of  the 
treatment.  When  I  first  settle  down  to  work 
out  my  material,  I  feel  as  if  I  had  got  to  know 
my  characters  on  a  railway  journey;  the  first 
acquaintance  is  struck  up,  and  we  have  chatted 
about  this  and  that.  When  I  write  it  down 
again,  I  already  see  everything  much  more 
clearly,  and  I  know  the  people  as  if  I  had  stayed 
with  them  for  a  month  at  a  watering-place.  I 
have  grasped  the  leading  points  of  their  charac- 


How  a  Drama  is  Built  Up.  235 

ters  and  their  little  peculiarities,  but  I  might  yet 
make  a  mistake  in  important  points.  At  last,  in 
the  final  cast,  I  have  reached  the  limits  of  my 
acquaintance ;  I  know  my  people  from  close  and 
lasting  intercourse ;  they  are  my  trusted  friends, 
who  have  no  surprises  in  store  for  me ;  as  I  see 
them  now,  so  shall  I  always  see  them." 

The  chief  figures  in  a  play  appear  at  once  in 
the  action  as  it  is  revolved  in  the  mind.  Con- 
trast suggests  the  character  or  characters  in 
opposition.  Certain  situations  and  incidents  can 
only  be  brought  about  by  the  contributing  in- 
fluence of  others,  and  thus  a  character  has  to  be 
created  that  was  not  at  all  in  the  first  scheme. 
This  new-comer  may  be  needed  for  the  sake  of 
variety,  or  to  supply  some  element  more  or  less 
closely  related  to  the  main  movement. 

It  is  hard  to  change  what  is  once  written. 
The  painter  who  once  gets  a  leg  out  of  position 
may  never  get  it  right.  The  sculptor  is  in  a 
worse  case.  If  he  chips  too  deep  his  material 
is  ruined.  Thus  material  things  must  first  be 
determined. 

It  has  been  urged  that  an  author  should  be 
an  actor.  This  claim  that  no  man  should  be 
free  of  the  guild  except  that  he  tread  the  stage, 
is  specious,  but  false.  The  art  of  writing  a  play 
and  the  art  of  acting  a  part  are  distinct. 


236          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

One  should    know  the  stage,  but   he  must 

1  know  nature  first,  and  have  it  in  mind  above  all 

•4 

things.  Shakspere  and  Moliere,  men  of  ex- 
ixtraordinary  genius,  were  actors  by  coincidence, 
and  were  not  distinguished  in  that  capacity. 
The  coincidence  does  not  exist  in  large  propor- 
tion in  that  long  list  of  writers  of  the  Eliza- 
bethan period.  The  conspicuous  authors  of  this 
day — Dumas,  Sardou,  Bronson  Howard,  Henry 
Arthur  Jones,  W.  S.  Gilbert,  and  others — do  not 
sustain  any  such  assumed  rule.  The  limitations 
of  the  stage  may  be  learned  without  acting. 
Lessing  and  Schiller  and  Goethe  did  not  have 
to  get  their  genius  from  Thespians.  In  fact,  the 
dramatist  will  always  find  that  he  has  the  rights 
of  the  drama  to  maintain  against  the  imperfect 
views  and  self-interest  of  actors.  The  principles 
of  construction  and  of  dramatic  effect  determine 
the  things  of  the  stage,  and  no  single  class  of 
men. 

This  may  be  said  in  friendly  warning  to  the 
young  author:  the  manager  of  a  theatre  and 
the  director  of  his  stage  are,  or  are  presumed  to 
be,  skilled  in  their  business.  The  manager,  as 
a  man  of  business,  has  his  policy  of  manage- 
ment. He  knows  what  kind  of  plays  he  is 
willing  to  back  with  his  capital  and  his  resources. 
He  has  employed  his  company  and  equipped 


How  a  Drama  is  Built  Up.          237 

his  house  accordingly.  It  is  not  to  the  purpose 
to  besiege  a  manager  with  a  drama  that  he  can- 
not possibly  use.  The  manager  and  the  director  , 
of  the  stage  understand  theatrical  effects,  and 
their  suggestions  should  have  value;  but  here 
again  no  personal  authority  can  be  superior  to 
correct  principles. 

The  dramatic  instinct  is  essential  in  addition 
to  a  knowledge  of  technique.  One  may  have 
genius  in  some  other  line,  like  Richelieu  in 
statesmanship,  and  yet  lack  the  dramatic  faculty.  L. 
On  the  other  hand,  a  man  of  no  literary  turn 
may  instinctively  know  how  to  set  his  dramatic 
squadron  in  the  field.  The  reason,  no  doubt, 
why  so  many  distinguished  poets  and  novelists 
— like  Tennyson  and  Dickens — fail  in  the  drama, 
is  because  their  habits  of  thought  and  methods 
of  expression  become  fixed,  and  their  genius 
cannot  bring  itself  to  yield  to  the  unyielding 
domination  of  dramatic  rule.  And  why  should 
it  ?  The  world  has  gained,  rather  than  lost,  by 
their  failures,  for  what  they  had  to  say  was  said 
in  the  appointed  way. 

The  only  career  worth  having  as  a  dramatic 
writer  is  in  original  work.  It  is  better  to  pro- 
duce an  honest  drama — while  in  ah  avocation 
distinct  from  the  stage — like  Shiel,  Talfourd, 
and  others,  than  to  be  identified  by  trade-mark 


238          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

with   the    hand-me-downs   of    theatrical    com- 
merce. 

/  No  honest  man  writes  hundreds  of  plays.  It 
requires  much  less  time  to  write  a  play  in  ordi- 
nary language  than  one  of  a  high  form  of  verse, 
where  art  goes  to  every  syllable.  Successful 
pieces  have  been  conceived  and  written  in  a  few 
weeks.  Things  have  been  thrown  together  in  a 
few  days.  But  these  are  not  of  the  kind  that 
stand  publication.  Publication  would  dismantle 
many  a  reputation  nowadays,  and  lay  bare  the 
sources  of  his  material.  It  is  to  be  regretted 
that  we  no  longer  publish  as  the  French  continue 
to  do. 

Play  construction  requires  time,  and  some 
writers  reconstruct  their  plays  many  times. 

Processes  of  construction  may  be  traced  in  the 
life  of  Schiller,  who  left  some  pages  of  ground- 
work for  certain  of  his  dramas,  finished  and 
unfinished. 

See  also,  as  to  the  plotting  of  plays,  the 
memoirs  and  lives  of  Coleman,  Garrick,  Mac- 
ready,  and  others. 

The  younger  writer  should  closely  question  all 
minor  "  laws,"  and  accept  with  full  intelligence 
and  accord  the  general  principles.  He  should 
not  ground  himself  so  in  precedent  that  he  can- 
not get  away  from  it.  In  short,  vigor  in  the 
place  of  imitation  is  the  sure  safeguard.  Prac- 


How  a  Drama  is  Built  Up.          239 

tice  brings  personal  instinct.  National  instinct 
comes  from  universal  observance  on  the  stage  of 
principle. 

After  all  is  said  and  done,  the  production  of 
plays  is  a  practical  business.  The  young  author 
should  so  regard  it.  Trials  of  a  play,  by  way  of 
mere  curious  experiment,  a  complaisance,  are  of 
little  value  in  bringing  it  to  use.  Amateur  act- 
ing and  hasty  staging  are  detrimental.  A  single 
performance  is  a  gasp  at  life,  and  nothing  more. 
Continuity  of  effort  and  life  is  the  need. 

There  is  no  life  more  fragile  than  that  of  a 
dramatic  infant.  It  requires  nursing  from  the 
stage-manager  and  from  the  business  charge. 
It  is  not  property  until  it  is  listed  with  all  for- 
mality in  the  dramatic  market.  It  hardly  has 
an  existence  until  a  manager  is  back  of  it  with 
capital  and  the  urgency  of  his  convictions. 

It  all  depends  on  a  complex  machinery.  The 
commercial  gentlemen  who  traverse  the  land  are 
highly  practical.  They  are  dismayed  by  the 
bare  manuscript.  They  handle  successes  by 
preference,  and  naturally  enough.  The  pro- 
ducing manager  in  New  York  is  limited  to  the 
policy  of  his  house,  its  stage  capacities,  and  so 
on.  Thus  it  is  absurd  to  send  for  perusal  a 
tragedy  to  a  manager  whose  company  fits 
comedy  only. 

Plays  often  fail  at  first.     Instance  "  The  Col- 


240          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

leen  Bawn,"  "Private  Secretary/'  "Pinafore," 
"  School  for  Scandal/1  etc.  A  play  is  in  pro- 
duction more  than  thrice  refined ;  the  author's 
inspiration,  the  actor's  power,  the  manager's 
judgment,  and  the  public's  verdict.  An  author 
X/  is  the  best  judge  of  his  own  play.  A  sculptor 
knows  if  there  is  a  flaw  in  his  block  of  marble. 
An  author  that  cannot  decide  on  his  own  work 
is  no  author,  and  lacks  the  inner  light.  In 
other  forms  perhaps  this  does  not  hold,  but  in 
the  drama  it  does,  for  it  is  in  the  material  that 
all  lies.  One  may  not  have  this  inner  light,  but 
as  a  professional  he  should  have  it. 

The  time  required  to  write  a  play  is  entirely 
dependent  on  the  man  and  the  fullness  and 
urgency  of  the  idea  in  him,  and  like  conditions. 
The  old  verse  form  would  require  longer  to 
write  than  prose.  Voltaire  composed  "  Zaire  " 
in  twenty-four  days.  Six  months  or  a  year 
give  good  assurance  that  the  material  of  a  play 
is  well  worked  up.  The  actual  writing  may  not 
have  required  a  month.  If  you  find  that  you 
cannot  spend  weeks  and  months  on  a  play,  ever 
with  fresh  enthusiasm  or  with  persistent  deter- 
mination— if  your  resources  of  inquiry  and 
mental  combativeness  desert  you  at  the  end 
of  a  week — it  is  possible  that  you  have  failed  to 
grasp  dramatic  principle. 


How  a  Drama  is  Built  Up.  241 

The  young  author  usually  writes  a  play  not 
in  touch  with  the  times — which  move  so  fast 
that  a  play  of  ten  years  ago  would  be  of  no  use 
to-day. 

Good  plays  are  rare.  Managers  and  the  pub- 
lic, moreover,  clamor  for  novelty.  The  reward 
is  great,  and  the  young  author  should  reflect 
that  technical  excellence  is  indispensable. 

It  is  sometimes  said  by  managers  and  others 
that  it  is  impossible  to  predict  with  any  certainty 
the  success  of  a  play.  This  is  in  good  part  non- 
sense. It  is  true  that  by  far  the  greater  propor-  < 
tion  of  plays  are  experimental.  Nor  can  the 
degree  of  success  always  be  foretold.  It  takes 
very  little  to  kill  a  play,  but  where  every  pos- 
sible element  is  provided  for  a  good  drama,  and 
where  the  result  is  the  true  effect  of  the  play, 
and  not  the  false  conjunction  of  accidents  and 
failures,  one's  preliminary  judgment  is  as  safe  as 
the  material. 

This  comment  on  a  misleading  saying  does 
not,  of  course,  intend  to  convey  the  statement 
that  every  man's  judgment  is  true.  It  means 
simply  that  if  the  material  is  good,  it  can  be 
passed  upon  in  advance,  just  as  gold  can  be. 
The  truth  is  that  the  commercial  manager  does 
not  care  to  risk  his  judgment. 

The  assay  in  the  soul  may  be  as  firm  as  in 


242          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

the  public  trial.  A  failure  may  be  predicted 
with  absolute  sureness,  and  so  with  success. 
Failure  at  a  first  performance,  owing  to  acci- 
dent, and  enduring  favor  on  a  revival,  owing  to 
truth,  are  common  incidents  in  the  history  of 
the  stage. 

The  laws  of  the  stage  are  rarely  felt  in  their 
full  significance  by  one  who  first  essays  the 
drama.  They  meet  with  obstinate  resistance; 
and  what  has  been  said  should  encourage  a 
writer  to  closely  revise  his  knowledge  whenever 
and  wherever  a  suggestion  is  made  to  him  by 
his  own  failure,  or  by  the  wisdom,  assumed  or 
real,  of  his  critics,  managerial  or  journalistic. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

THE    LITERATURE   OF   DRAMATIC    PRINCIPLE. 

A  BIBLIOGRAPHY  of  the  drama,  including 
history  and  biography,  would  be  impracticable 
here  by  reason  of  its  length,  and,  indeed,  would 
not  concern  the  technical  elements  of  a  play. 
Some  works  of  the  kind  thus  excluded  may  be 
referred  to  as  belonging  to  the  department  of 
criticism,  and  helpful  as  models  and  indirect  ex- 
ponents of  a  science,  essential  to  the  well-being 
of  the  drama,  to  which  a  chapter  has  been  de- 
voted. Much  reading  is  not  required  for  the 
pursuit  of  any  art.  Knowledge  of  principle  is 
alone  sufficient  to  sustain  any  endeavor.  A 
good  actor  does  not  derive  his  faculties  from 
beholding  the  performances  of  others,  and  by 
virtue  of  his  constant  occupation  is  thrown  upon 
his  own  resources ;  but  principles  he  must  know 
or  must  learn.  Now,  the  technical  elements  of 
the  drama  have  been  fought  for,  and  the  books 
that  have  been  foremost  in  the  conflict  are  worth 
243 


244          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

knowing  something  about.  If  one  does  not  care 
to  accept  the  statements  herein,  he  is  frankly 
and  freely  assisted  in  reaching  the  list  of  authori- 
ties. This  book  will  then  be  found  not  to  be  a 
compilation,  in  the  sense  of  being  manufactured 
in  a  book-making  spirit.  While  its  very  first 
words  are  the  words  of  Aristotle,  and  while 
Hedelin  and  Diderot  and  Lessing  and  Schlegel 
and  Freytag  and  others  may  share  in  its  lines, 
there  is  a  mutual  and  inevitable  kinship  in  com- 
mon principles.  There  is  the  breath  of  conflict 
in  the  book,  conflict  that  concerns  the  good  and 
evil  in  the  drama  of  the  present  day.  So  that, 
after  all,  what  is  old  and  what  is  new  in  it  is  not 
to  the  point  at  all ;  and  if  the  author  has  added 
anything  new  to  the  common  fund,  the  recog- 
nition of  that  fact  would  be  as  nothing  to  him 
compared  to  the  useful  result  that  the  book 
should  accomplish  in  bringing  home  artistic 
truth  to  the  right  minds. 

The  preponderance  of  French  works  in  the 
list  demonstrates  that  books,  or  discussion  in  any 
form  on  principle  and  technique,  are  essential  to 
the  impression  of  the  right  thing  not  only  on 
authors  but  on  the  people.  The  long  French 
list  is  given  partly  with  the  view  of  making  that 
point  clear.  It  is  true  that,  as  has  been  said, 
where  too  much  attention  is  given  to  form,  the 


The  Literature  of  Dramatic  Principle.  245 

decadence  of  an  art  is  indicated.  Where  by  form 
conventionalism  is  meant,  the  saying  is  whole- 
some ;  but  never  if  by  the  word  form  principle 
is  intended.  Never.  More  than  this :  the  sooner 
we,  as  a  people,  get  rid  of  the  idea  that  genius 
disdains  technique — that  is,  principle — the  bet- 
ter for  our  development.  All  the  really  great 
dramatists  have  understood  their  art  and  have 
written  about  it — sometimes  wrongly. 

The  beginning  of  the  literature  of  dramatic 
principle  is  in  Aristotle.  His  "  Poetik  "  is  brief 
and  fragmentary,  and  treats  only  of  tragedy,  but 
he  may  be  said  to  have  created  the  firmament 
of  drama  in  a  critical  way.  The  outlines  are 
there.  He  lives.  He  is  modern.  He  was  mis- 
used in  France,  where  from  him  were  deduced 
the  rules  of  the  classic  school.  The  treatise  has 
been  frequently  translated  into  English,  with 
notes.  An  available  edition  is  that  published  in 
the  Bohn  Library. 

The  next  period  of  written  theory  belongs  to 
classic  France.  Its  principles  are  summed  up  in 
a  short  treatise  written  by  Abbe  D'Aubignac, 
known  as  Hedelin,  and  which  was  translated 
into  English  many  years  ago,  under  a  preten- 
tious title,  not  the  author's,  as  "The  Whole 
Art  of  the  Stage."  In  French,  Chamfort's  Dic- 
tionary goes  more  into  detail  under  the  various 


246          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

heads.  Marmontel  wrote  many  of  the  articles, 
which  are  reproduced  in  his  collected  works. 
In  prefaces  to  their  dramas,  Corneille,  Racine, 
and  Voltaire  ("  Semiramis,"  etc.)  wrote  of 
principle  with  a  good  deal  of  fullness.  Voltaire 
— whose  hatred  and  misconception  of  Shakspere 
is  known — has  been  brought  into  English  in  his 
"Discourse  on  Tragedy."  Mercier's  "  Essai 
sur  le  Drame,"  not  obtainable  in  this  research, 
probably  had  the  merit  of  first,  among  the 
French,  discovering  that  the  unity  of  interest 
was  above  the  supposed  necessities  of  time  and 
place.  With  Diderot  began — without  much 
immediate  result,  for  his  plays  were  weak — 
some  discernment  that  the  classic  school  did 
not  own  mankind.  This  very  practical,  learned, 
common-sense,  and  able  man  claimed  to  have 
discovered  and  founded  with  his  "  Pere  de 
Famille "  the  comedie  larmoyante,  which  is 
simply  the  domestic  drama,  and  wrote  strenu- 
ously in  support  of  greater  freedom  in  treat- 
ment. His  "  De  la  Poesie  Dramatique "  dis- 
cusses his  theories  in  a  division  into  chapters 
that  gives  it  the  appearance  of  a  convenient 
text-book.  It  was  a  book  for  the  times,  and,  con- 
sequently, contains  more  about  his  own  plays 
than  serves  just  now.  His  analysis  of  a  play, 
and  his  indication  of  mental  processes  and  how 


The  Literature  of  Dramatic  Principle.   247 

to  wrest  the  dramatic  incidents  and  ideas  from 
a  theme,  must  be  emphasized  as  very  valuable 
to  one  looking  into  this  subject. 

Diderot,  in  discussing  the  plan,  or  the  build- 
ing-up, of  a  play,  adopts  the  process  of  Aristo- 
tle, and  illustrates  by  the  following  quotation 
from  that  great  thinker : 

"  Whether  you  are  working  upon  some  well- 
known  subject,  or  are  attempting  a  new  one, 
begin  by  mapping  out  the  fable,  and  the  epi- 
sodes and  incidents  necessary  for  its  develop- 
ment will  occur  to  you.  Is  it  a  tragedy  ?  Let 
us  say,  for  example,  that  a  princess  is  being  led 
to  the  altar  to  be  sacrificed,*  but  she  vanishes 
suddenly  and  is  transported  to  a  country  where 
it  is  the  custom  to  sacrifice  strangers  to  the 
goddess  that  is  worshiped  there.  She  is  made 
a  priestess.  Some  years  later  the  brother  of 
this  princess  comes  to  this  country.  He  is 
seized  by  the  inhabitants,  and  is  on  the  point 
of  being  slain  at  the  altar  by  the  priestess, 
when  he  exclaims :  '  It  is  not  enough  that  my 
sister  should  have  been  sacrificed,  for  I,  too, 
must  be  slain!'  At  these  words  he  is  recog- 
nized and  saved.  Now  why  had  this  princess 
been  condemned  to  die  on  the  altar?  Why 
were  strangers  sacrificed  in  this  barbarous  land 

*  "  Iphigenia,"  by  Euripides. 


248          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

where  the  brother  encountered  her?  How  was 
he  captured?  He  came  in  obedience  to  an 
oracle.  But  wherefore  this  oracle?  He  was 
recognized  by  his  sister,  but  could  not  this 
have  been  brought  about  in  some  other  way  ? 
All  of  these  incidents  are  lacking  in  the  brief 
statement  of  the  fable,  and  it  is  the  poet's  part 
to  supply  them.  The  story  itself  is  common 
property." 

Diderot  then  describes  his  own  process  with 
"  LePerede  Famille'' : 

"A  father  has  two  children,  a  son  and  a 
daughter.  The  daughter  secretly  loves  a 
young  man  living  in  the  same  house.  The 
son  is  infatuated  with  a  girl  of  the  neighbor- 
hood. He  has  sought  to  seduce  her,  but  without 
success.  He  has  disguised  himself  and  settled 
down  near  her  under  an  assumed  name.  He 
is  there  known  as  a  mechanic  of  some  kind. 
Occupied  during  the  day,  he  can  see  the  object 
of  his  passion  only  at  night.  But  the  father, 
watchful  of  what  is  going  on  in  his  house,  learns 
that  his  son  is  absent  every  night.  It  is  this 
conduct  that  introduces  the  derangement,  the 
disquiet  in  the  family  affairs :  he  awaits  his  son. 

"There  the  piece  begins.  What  follows? 
He  finds  that  the  young  girl  is  suitable  for  his 
son ;  and  discovering  at  the  same  time  that  his 


The  Literature  of  Dramatic  Principle.    249 

daughter  loves  the  young  man  for  whom  he 
has  destined  her,  he  arranges  the  two  mar- 
riages, but  against  the  consent  of  his  brother- 
in-law,  who  has  other  plans.  But  why  is  it  a 
secret  love  on  the  part  of  the  young  girl? 
How  happens  it  that  the  young  man  she  loves 
lives  in  the  same  house?  What  is  he  doing 
there  ?  Who  is  he  ?  Who  is  this  unknown  girl 
with  whom  the  son  is  infatuated?  How  is  it 
that  she  has  fallen  into  her  present  state  of  pov- 
erty ?  Whence  comes  she  ?  Born  in  the  prov- 
inces, what  has  led  her  to  Paris  ?  What  holds 
her  there  ?  Who  is  this  brother-in-law  ?  Upon 
what  is  based  his  authority  in  the  household  of 
this  father?  Why  does  he  oppose  these  mar- 
riages that  are  agreeable  to  the  father?  But 
the  action  not  being  able  to  proceed  in  two 
places,  how  shall  the  young  girl,  the  stranger, 
be  introduced  into  the  house  of  the  family? 
How  does  the  father  discover  the  passion  exist- 
ing between  his  own  daughter  and  the  young 
man  in  the  house?  What  reason  has  he  for 
dissimulating  his  design  ?  How  does  it  happen 
that  the  girl,  the  young  stranger,  gains  his 
approval?  What  are  the  obstacles  that  the 
brother-in-law  brings  to  bear?  How  is  the 
double  marriage  to  be  accomplished  in  spite  of 
these  obstacles? 


2  50          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

"  How  many  things  remain  undetermined 
even  after  the  author  has  made  his  plot !  But 
here  you  have  the  argument  and  the  basis. 
Therefrom  must  be  derived  the  division  into 
acts,  the  number  of  characters,  their  individual- 
ity, and  the  nature  of  the  scenes.  I  perceive 
that  my  plan  is  suitable,  because  the  father, 
whose  character  I  propose  to  depict,  will  en- 
counter sorrow.  He  is  to  oppose  a  marriage 
suitable  for  his  son ;  he  is  to  see  his  daughter 
apparently  withdrawn  from  a  union  that  he 
desires  for  her,  etc. 

"  The  number  of  my  characters  is  now  to  be 
decided.  I  am  no  longer  uncertain  about  their 
individuality.  The  father  shall  have  the  char- 
acteristics of  his  station.  He  shall  be  good, 
vigilant,  firm,  and  tender.  Placed  in  the  most 
difficult  position  of  his  life,  his  whole  soul  shall 
be  engaged.  It  is  necessary  that  his  son  shall 
be  violent.  The  one  he  loves  shall  be  innocent, 
true,  and  sensible.  The  brother-in-law,  who  is 
my  mechanical  lever,  a  narrow-minded  man, 
full  of  prejudices,  shall  be  stern,  but  weak,  evil- 
minded,  importunate,  an  intriguer,  the  bane  of 
the  house,  the  aversion  of  everybody. 

"  Who  is  this  Germeuil  ?  He  is  the  son  of  a 
friend  of  the  father,  whom  he  has  adopted  after 
the  death  of  the  unfortunate  man.  Cecile,  as 


The  Literature  of  Dramatic  Principle.    251 

well  as  Germeuil,  while  loving  each  other,  are 
deferential  in  their  relations,  believing  a  union 
to  be  impossible  under  the  circumstances.  Thus 
Germeuil  shall  be  self-composed  but  distant  in 
manner.  Gecile  shall  have  pride,  vivacity,  re- 
serve, and  sensibility.  The  father  shall  fail  to 
understand  the  situation  at  first ;  and  the  cross- 
purposes  are  established.  .  .  .  My  purpose 
was  to  make  the  father  the  principal  personage. 
The  plot  remained  the  same ;  but  all  the  epi- 
sodes would  have  been  different  if  I  had  chosen 
for  my  chief  character  the  son,  the  lover,  or  the 
uncle." 

See  also  in  Diderot's  works  his  "Advice  to  a 
Young  Man  who  proposed  to  write  a  Tragedy 
of  Regulus." 

In  direct  relation  with  Diderot  stands  Lessing, 
whose  "  Hamburgische  Dramaturgic,"  epoch- 
making  as  to  Germany,  is  the  most  substantial, 
the  most  honest,  the  most  inspiring  work  ever 
done  in  the  cause  of  the  drama.  It  is  not  a  for- 
mal treatise  like  Diderot's.  Called  to  the  Ham- 
burg Theatre  in  1767-69  to  act  as  a  kind  of 
official  critic,  charged  with  educating  the  com- 
pany as  well  as  the  public,  for  two  years  he 
published  criticisms  of  the  plays  produced.  He 
discussed  all  the  material  points  in  dramatic 
values  just  as  he  encountered  them,  irrespective 


The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

of  the  attention  excited  by  the  play.  The  noble 
book  outlives  the  temporal  things  in  it.  It  grew 
up  out  of  Lessing's  fight  for  the  true  and  the 
simple.  It  destroyed  French  supremacy  and 
forced  a  new  era  for  the  German  stage.  It  may 
be  found  translated  in  Bonn's  edition.  Written 
at  a  later  period,  Schlegel's  "  Lectures  on  Dra- 
matic Art " — to  be  found  in  Bonn's  edition — are 
at  once  brilliant  and  substantial.  For  the  most 
part  they  concern  the  philosophy  of  the  history 
of  the  drama  in  all  nations,  but  he  handles  very 
freely  some  of  the  elements  of  dramatic  prin- 
ciple. Sulzer's  "  Theorie  der  Kunst "  is  curi- 
ously careful  and  complete,  German-like,  for 
his  day.  It  may  be  remarked  in  passing  that 
nearly  all  works  on  aesthetics  touch  on  the 
drama.  In  this  way  Hegel  has  some  admirable 
chapters. 

For  the  past  generation,  a  book  of  large  in- 
fluence in  Germany  has  been  Freytag's  "  Tech- 
nik  des  Dramas."  This  author,  as  dramatist 
and  novelist,  and  after  the  German  fashion 
thoroughly  learned,  was  entirely  competent  to 
his  task.  His  "Technik"  is  one  of  the  very 
few  that  attempt  to  formulate.  Its  fault  is  too 
close  an  adherence  to  the  Shaksperian  form. 
His  learning  leads  him  into  a  deep  study  of  the 
Greek,  and  thus  he  does  not  address  himself 


The  Literature  of  Dramatic  Principle.  253 

sufficiently  to  the  freedom  from  fixity  that  the 
present  time  demands. 

Where  the  climax  shall  be  and  his  complexity 
of  "  Stufungen"  are  not  edifying.  It  is,  how- 
ever, a  valuable  standard  work ;  and  necessarily 
lays  all  subsequent  writers  under  obligations,  as 
have  done  before  him  all  strong  and  independ- 
ent thinkers  on  the  subject. 

Roescher,  a  voluminous  German,  is  too  meta- 
physical to  be  of  value  to  all  men.  To  many 
others  it  would  be  a  loss  of  time  to  have 
recourse.  Freytag,  the  brilliant  author  of  one 
of  the  best  novels  of  his  century,  "Soil  und 
Haben,"  was  followed  by  Spielhagen,  another 
novelist,  with  "  Beitrage  zur  Theorie  und  Tech- 
nik  des  Romans. "  It  is  worth  consulting  in 
the  obvious  relations  existing  in  creative  art 
between  the  novel  and  the  drama.  It  is  in  the 
form  of  critical  essays. 

English  literature  has  little  original  material 
on  dramatic  principle.  It  is  hardly  worth  the 
while  to  point  out  the  fragmentary  things  of 
Dryden,  Johnson,  Addison,  and  many  others, 
who  have  incidentally,  and  in  prefaces  and  es- 
says, touched  on  the  subject.  The  literature 
does  excel  in  picturesque  history,  biography, 
and  critical  comment.  The  critic's  function  has 
nowhere  been  better  exercised.  It  is  within  the 


254         The  Technique  of  tbe  Drama. 

scope  of  this  limited  bibliography  to  refer  to 
some  of  this  material.  Who  has  not  read 
Lamb's  delightful  reminiscences  of  players,  half- 
forgotten,  some  of  them,  but  for  him  ?  William 
Hazlitt  is  particularly  charming  in  a  separate 
volume  of  republished  criticisms  written  for 
newspapers,  entitled  "Views  of  the  Stage." 

Leigh  Hunt  and  others  will  occur  to  any  one. 
Button  Cook's  series  of  books,  "  Nights  at  the 
Play/'  "With  the  Players,"  "Hours  with  the 
Players,"  and  "A  Book  of  the  Play,"  are  in- 
teresting in  their  way. 

William  Archer  is  to  be  read.  Joseph  Hat- 
ton  is  admirable.  It  would  be  entering  on  a  long 
list  to  refer  to  more  than  a  few  like  Colly  Cib- 
ber,  Boaden,  and  Campbell,  who  in  biographies 
have  written  delightfully,  mainly  of  people,  in  a 
critical  way.  This  field  is  too  rich  to  more  than 
hint  at  here.  Criticism  can  find  models  of  form 
and  spirit  there.  A  book  of  value,  written  in 
the  manner  of  essays  and  without  the  purpose 
of  a  text-book,  is  Fitzgerald's  "  Principles  of 
Comedy  and  Dramatic  Effect."  He  very  clearly 
defines  and  illustrates  the  lines  of  true  comedy. 
The  work  has  an  honest  purpose  and  is  very  en- 
tertaining. The  same  author's  "  On  the  Stage  " 
grasps  principle  along  with  other  comment. 
"  Actors  and  the  Art  of  Acting,"  by  George 


The  Literature  of  Dramatic  Principle.   255 

Lewes,  being  largely  critical  reminiscence,  con- 
tains useful  observations  on  technique.  See 
also  the  variorum  editions  of  Shakspere.  Criti- 
cal matter  of  a  like  kind  forms  an  interesting 
feature  of  French  literature.  In  fact,  for  a  long 
and  unbroken  period  one  may  read  criticisms, 
after  the  best  skill  of  the  day,  on  every  piece  of 
importance.  Such  criticisms  are  collected  in 
Geoffrey's  works.  Grimm  and  La  Harpe  wrote 
thus.  Jules  Janin's  criticisms  are  collected 
under  the  misleading  title  of  "  Histoire  de  la 
Literature  Dramatique."  See  also  Gautier  and 
Jules  Claretie,  "  La  Vie  Moderne  au  Theatre," 
and  "  Causeries  sur  1'Art  Dramatique,"  again  a 
misleading  title.  Zola's  collected  criticisms, 
"  Nos  Auteurs,"  "  Le  Naturalisme  au  Theatre," 
are  in  the  main  sound,  as  well  as  brilliant  and 
effective. 

He  does  not  stand  much,  if  any,  below  Janin. 
Should  Francesque  Sarcey  publish  his  news- 
paper criticisms,  there  will  be  found  a  great 
fund  of  principle. 

See  also  prefaces  by  Sardou  and  Dumas,  and 
the  preface  by  Victor  Hugo  to  "  Cromwell/1  in 
which  he  flays  the  unities. 

This  book  of  technique  is  concerned  only 
with  the  text  of  operas,  the  libretto,  the  greatest 
writer  of  which  was  Scribe,  whose  methods  are 


256          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

very  plain  in  the  slight  text  that  requires  to 
be  expanded  enormously  with  sound.  Arteaga 
has  written  a  history  of  opera.  The  triviality 
of  the  old  librettos  more  than  anything  else  led 
to  the  revulsion  best  expressed  in  Wagner.  See 
his  "  Art  Life  and  Theories,"  etc. ;  "  Le  Drame 
Musicale,"  by  Edouard  Schure ;  "  The  Story  of 
the  Opera,"  by  W.  D.  Henderson,  New  York. 

The  history  of  the  drama  is  part  of  the  equip- 
ment of  the  critic  and  any  man  of  letters,  but  it 
is  not  absolutely  essential  to  the  writer  of  plays 
after  the  modern  methods  and  tendencies.  If 
his  material  is  strong  within  him,  and  his  adher- 
ence to  plain  and  simple  principles  firm  enough, 
it  little  matters  whether  the  author  can  speak 
by  the  book  or  not  as  to  dates  and  persons. 
General  histories  of  literature  abound.  Taine 
has  special  value  in  the  matter  of  the  drama. 
Ward's  history  comes  down  to  Queen  Anne. 
Klein  in  German  is  voluminous  and  comprehen- 
sive. Royer's  "  Histoire  Universelle  du  The- 
atre "  gives  full  historical  information.  Prolls's 
"  Geschichte  des  Neueren  Dramas  "  is  excellent ; 
while  Schlegel,  up  to  the  middle  of  the  eight- 
eenth century,  is  capital.  Biographical  histories 
abound,  particularly  in  the  English. 

Concerning  scenery  or  stage  management, 
Becq  de  la  Fouquiere's  book,  "  Art  de  la  Mise 


The  Literature  of  Dramatic  Principle.   257 

en  Scene"  is  good,  but  he  stands  too  firmly, 
perhaps,  on  broad  effects  and  the  value  of  the 
painted  over  the  practicable. 

This  author  believes  more  in  suggestion  and 
the  scene-painter  than  in  realized  detail.  There 
is  no  doubt  that  some  scenes  can  be  realized  only 
by  the  brush,  such  as  the  tessellated  floor  and  the 
marble  columns  of  an  extensive  palace  interior. 
More  than  this,  certain  stone  exteriors,  as  of  a 
cathedral,  or  certain  interiors,  as  of  an  old-fash- 
ioned dungeon,  are  peculiarly  subject  to  the 
illusion  afforded  by  the  work  of  the  skillful 
draughtsman  and  artist ;  but  where  the  effects 
are  not  broad,  as  in  a  fashionable  drawing-room 
of  the  present  day,  illusion  is  best  served  by  an 
exact  realization  in  a  boxed  interior  of  every 
detail  of  the  life  to  be  depicted.  Even  in  action 
it  is  better  in  some  cases  to  represent  an  army 
by  having  a  few  men  constantly  pass  and  repass 
a  given  point,  where  only  the  spear-points  or 
gun-muzzles  are  seen  over  the  top  of  a  wall, 
than  to  attempt  to  fill  the  stage  with  incompe- 
tent supernumeraries.  Thus  the  head  of  a  col- 
umn in  the  wings  may  suggest  the  head  of  an 
army.  But  stage  possibilities  are  constantly 
widening.  The  theory  of  suggestion  and  that 
of  realization  do  not  necessarily  conflict  at  all 
points.  The  union  of  the  two  methods  was  ad- 


258          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

mirably  demonstrated  in  the  production  of  "The 
Great  Metropolis,"  a  play  that  has  been  done 
with  great  success  in  England  and  America. 
The  shipwreck  scene,  devised  by  Mr.  Teal,  one 
of  the  authors,  was  indescribably  effective,  and 
yet  the  entire  rescue  of  the  persons  from  the  ship 
beating  to  pieces  in  the  breakers,  with  all  the 
accompaniments  of  a  great  storm,  was  seen  only 
in  the  intervals  of  the  flashes  of  lightning. 

Sanson  also  published  "  Observations  sur  T  Art 
de  la  Mise  en  Scene/1 

The  infinite  details  of  the  principles  and  all 
that  concerns  the  practical  part  of  the  stage 
and  acting  would  seem  to  be  covered  by  "  Das 
Deutsche  Theater  Lexicon:  Ein  Encyclopedic 
alles  Wissenswerthes  der  Schauspielkunst  und 
Buhnentechnik ;  herausgegeben  von  Adolf  Op- 
penheim  und  Ernst  Gettke,  unter  mitwerkung 
Hervorragende  Gelehete  &  Fach  Maenner;  35 
hefte,  1885-1888."  Von  Blum's  "Theater  Lex- 
icon "  seems  to  be  of  the  same  description.  On 
examination  of  these  books,  however,  one  finds 
that  they  are  largely  biographical  and  historical. 
Pougin's  Encylopedia  is  good.  In  English, 
Adam's  "  Dictionary  of  the  Drama "  is  full  of 
general  historical  information.  See  also  maga- 
zine articles.  Consult  also  "  The  Art  of  Author- 
ship: Advice  to  Beginners,  by  Leading  Au- 
thors," D.  Appleton  &  Co. 


The  Literature  of  Dramatic  Principle.   259 

Two  of  the  best  satires  ever  written  on  con- 
ventionalism have  recently  appeared,  in  "  Re- 
cettes  de  Cuisine  Theatrale,"  by  Auguste  Ger- 
maine,  giving  formulas  for  writing  all  kinds 
of  plays;  and  "Stage  Land/*  by  Jerome  K. 
Jerome,  describing  the  characters  commonly 
seen  in  dramas. 

Referring  the  reader  to  Otto  Lorenz's  cata- 
logue for  French  publications,  to  Heinsius  for 
the  German,  and  to  the  English  trade  catalogues, 
the  writer  will  add  a  few  titles,  confessing  at  the 
same  time  small  personal  interest  in  the  mere 
pursuit  of  books,  and  hoping  that  the  man  with 
a  play  in  him  ready  to  be  written  will  stop  short 
and  forego  the  hunt ;  many  of  them  have  small 
value.  Roumien,  "  L'Art  Dramatique  "  ;  Cail- 
hava,  "  De  1'Art  de  la  Comedie " ;  Horace's 
"  Ars  Poetica,"  in  many  translations.  Boildieu's 
paraphrase  and  additions  stand  in  far  closer  rela- 
tion to  the  drama.  Delsarte ;  Legouve ;  "  Essai 
d'une  Bibliographic  Generale  du  Theatre " ; 
"  Dictionnaire  de  1'Art,"  etc.,  by  Charles  de 
Busney ;  "  Essai  sur  1'Art  Dramatique/'  par  J.  E. 
Aloux,  8vo,  1885  ;  "  Des  Conditions  de  la  bonne 
Comedie/'  par  Karl  Hillebrand,  8vo,  1863  ;  San- 
son's  "L'Art  Theatrale,"  acting;  Talma,  "Re- 
flections sur  le  Kain  et  1'Art  Theatrale  "  ;  Did- 
erot's "  Essay  on  the  Actor's  Art "  ;  Riccaboni ; 
Beaumarchais ;  Hutton's  "  Plays  and  Players  " ; 


260          The  Technique  of  the  Drama. 

Brown's,  Dunlop's,  Ireland's  "  Histories  of  the 
American  Stage";  "  Poole's  Index"  (and  the 
like  current  ones)  to  magazine  articles,  which 
are  usually  of  no  value ;  but  Boucicault  in  the 
North  American  Review  (Jan.  1878)  and  Julian 
Magnus  in  Lippincott  are  excellent  in  the  matter 
of  the  construction  of  plays.  La  Rousse's  "  Dic- 
tionnaire "  of  the  French  language  is  uncom- 
monly full  and  satisfactory  in  its  definitions  and 
in  its  account  of  works  bearing  on  the  drama. 
In  the  matter  of  reading,  men  differ  in  their 
habits  and  in  their  receptivity,  but  he  alone  can 
read  with  profit  and  discrimination  who  is  first 
grounded  in  principle. 


INDEX. 


Acceptability,  a  decisive  element  in  the  drama,  30. 

Accident,  forbidden  by  cause  and  effect,  1 10. 

Action,  a  complete,  defined,  Chapter  I. ;  see  also  Chapter  IV* 

Actor,  the,  incidental  references  to,  31,  38,  46,  68,  115,  118, 
121,  123,  126,  127,  131,  134,  135,  136,  146,  149,  150,  154, 
155,  156,  162,  164,  166,  173,  211,  217,  219,  235,  236,  243. 

Acts,  the  division  into,  Chapter  IV.,  65;  three  natural  parts, 
beginning,  middle,  and  end,  65  ;  no  other  arbitrary  rule,  65  ; 
five  acts  not  imperative,  65  ;  not  known  to  early  drama,  65  ; 
this  division  explained,  65 ;  usually  some  happening  in  the 
interval,  66 ;  always  a  new  relation  after  each,  66 ;  a  place 
to  bestow  events  impracticable  in  the  acting,  and  the  like, 
66 ;  thus  hastening  on,  66 ;  periods  of  rest,  67 ;  but  a  long 
play  possible  without  them,  68 ;  a  saying  of  the  elder  Dumas, 
68 ;  a  misapprehension,  68 ;  lapse  of  time  provided  for,  69 ; 
present  distinct  pictures  and  help  the  memory,  70;  some- 
times compelled  by  scenic  requirements,  70 ;  for  plays  con- 
structed, not  written,  70;  each  to  accomplish  something 
definite,  70;  and  may  be  entitled  accordingly,  72;  no  uni- 
form length  or  time  for,  70 ;  but  according  to  its  function, 
71 ;  an  articulated  part  of  a  play,  70;  Corneille's  uniformity 
in,  71 ;  action,  beginning  of,  middle  of,  rise  and  decline  of, 
introduction,  exposition,  development,  climax,  denouement, 
catastrophe,  and  end,  touched  on,  71 ;  plot,  72 ;  story,  73 ; 
Brougham's  saying,  "A  play  writes  itself,"  73 ;  derived  from 
laws  of  human  nature,  73 ;  a  plot  is  the  solution  of  a  prob- 
261 


262  Index. 

lem,  73;  not  to  be  a  puzzle,  74;  the  simple  and  complex, 
74;  compared  with  composition  in  painting,  7<y  action 
placed  above  emotion  and  character,  74 ;  the  requirements  of 
a  plot,  75 ;  the  underplot,  75 ;  the  scenes  and  the  plot  in- 
herent in  the  subject,  74;  unfolding  of,  74;  perspicuity  in, 
75 ;  should  be  susceptible  of  brief  statement,  75 ;  illusion 
destroyed  by  weakness  of  treatment,  75 ;  introduction,  the, 
76;  laying  the  foundation,  76;  natural  order  of  the  action 
and  statement  of  facts,  76 ;  the  same  as  in  telling  an  anec- 
dote, 76 ;  facts  to  be  stated  or  withheld,  77 ;  economic  value 
of  scenery  as  to  such  statement,  78 ;  proceeding  in  the  ex- 
position and  introduction  from  the  general  to  the  particular, 
78;  as  seen  in  "The  Two  Orphans,"  78;  D'Ennery's  de- 
velopment of  character,  78 ;  relations  between  characters, 
79;  motives,  promises,  and  possibilities  lie  here,  79;  curi- 
osity and  interest  to  be  aroused,  80 ;  the  clash,  or  real  be- 
ginning of  action,  80;  functions  of  the  first  act,  or,  more 
properly,  of  the  beginning,  80 ;  preparation  for  future  scenes, 
as  in  "  The  Two  Orphans,"  80;  character  may  be  identical 
with  action,  80 ;  sympathies,  or  interest,  to  be  directed  and 
husbanded,  80 ;  action  to  be  unfolded  out  of  present  rela- 
tions, 8 1 ;  the  spoken  prologue,  81 ;  recital  of  incidents, 
should  be  a  part  of  the  action,  81 ;  as  in  "Othello,"  81 ; 
"Hamlet,"  82;  and  "Daniel  Rochat,"  82;  introduction 
should  gain  confidence  and  pleasure  of  audience,  83 ;  clear- 
ness, 83,  85;  tardy  explanations  fatal,  84;  preparation — a 
better  term  than  "  motive  " — the  solvent,  as  in  "A  Scrap  of 
Paper,"  83;  spectator  is  part  author,  84;  preparation  ex- 
plains in  a  flash,  84 ;  illusion  is  preoccupation  of  the  mind, 
85 ;  interest  possible  even  when  we  know  every  incident  in 
advance,  85  ;  suspense,  85 ;  weighing  effects,  85 ;  what  to 
state  and  what  to  act,  86;  "A  Scrap  of  Paper,"  86;  "The 
Silver  King,"  87;  "A  Celebrated  Case,"  etc.,  87;  authors 
must  note  effects  like  a  painter,  86;  touch  of,  86;  over- 
elaboration,  87;  when  statement  more  effective  than  "ac- 
tion," 87;  false  rule  as  to  quiet  beginning,  87;  "  Othello," 


index.  263 


88;  "Romeo  and  Juliet,"  88;  preparation,  89;  relative 
value  of  facts,  89 ;  inordinate  introduction  and  exposition,  89 ; 
material  faulty,  89 ;  essential  facts  to  be  in  the  introduction, 
89 ;  these  dictated  by  the  material,  89 ;  first  act  to  be  a  com- 
pleted standpoint,  89 ;  introductory  matter  extending  through 
three  acts  of  "  The  Two  Orphans,"  89;  style  and  tone  seen 
in  introduction,  89 ;  the  clash,  and  beginning  of  action,  90  ; 
"  Richard  III."  and  "  Julius  Caesar,"  90 ;  no  absolute  rule  as 
to  introduction  of  characters,  90 ;  Shakspere  sometimes  in- 
cludes all  in  first  act,  90;  but  characters  may  exist  before 
or  without  being  seen,  91;  "  Rob  Roy,"  "  Mary  Stuart," 
91;  prologue,  often  essential,  91;  "  Monte  Cristo,"  "Jane 
Eyre,"  91 ;  danger  of  its  differing  in  tone  from  the  play,  91 ; 
material  from  real  life  best,  92 ;  what  to  state,  92  ;  introduc- 
tion may  of  necessity  be  tedious,  92 ;  recital,  narrative  to  be 
made  by  right  people,  as  in  "A  Scrap  of  Paper,"  92;  action 
to  be  foreshadowed,  92  ;  right  people  to  say  the  right  things, 
92 ;  conventional  beginnings,  93 ;  curiosity  and  interest  the 
function  of  the  first  act,  94;  introduction,  conciliatory, 
agreeable,  92;  semiclassic  rules  at  fault  in  opening,  92; 
principles  rather  than  laws,  93  ;  conventionalism,  certain  bits 
of,  well  enough,  93 ;  the  feather  duster,  93 ;  illusion,  93 ;  re- 
cital, two  men  seated  in  chairs,  93 ;  expectation,  suspense, 
satisfaction,  are  the  three  parts  of  a  play,  93 ;  functions  of 
Act  I.,  interest  and  curiosity,  94.  Act  II.,  development,  94: 
a  second  definite  step  forward,  94;  characters,  95  ;  "  Daniel 
Rochat,"  95;  "The  Danicheffs,"  95;  "The  Courier  of 
Lyons,"  cited,  95  ;  clash  illustrated,  95  ;  climax,  96  ;  interest 
cumulative,  96;  proportions,  no  fixed,  but  important,  96; 
situation,  illustrated  from  "  Fate,"  97;  curiosity,  98 ;  interest 
to  exist  everywhere,  98 ;  must  be  sustained  by  devices,  98 ; 
character,  99 ;  plot,  99 ;  action,  99 ;  situation  defined,  99 ;  sus- 
pense emphasized  by  situation,  99 ;  "  Jim  the  Penman  "  and 
"  Diplomacy,"  99;  complications,  100.  Act  III.,  the  crisis 
or  climax,  100;  "The  Courier  of  Lyons,"  101 ;  "Article 
47,"  101 ;  "  The  Danicheffs,"  101 ;  "  Daniel  Rochat,"  102; 


264  Index. 

"  Camilla,"  102;  wrought-up  action  is  no  true  climax,  102; 
stolen  climaxes,  102;  not  necessarily  explosive  or  "  power- 
ful," 103;  anti-climax,  103;  "  Daniel  Rochat"  and  Dumas, 
etc.,  103.  Act  IV.,  denouement,  105;  solution  of  the  plot, 
105 ;  fulfilling  the  promises,  106 ;  not  to  be  sudden,  106 ; 
vigor  in  denouement  even  in  "Daniel  Rochat,"  106;  the 
solvent  nature  of,  illustrated  from  Macbeth,  107 ;  action  still 
important,  107;  difficulty  of  sustaining  interest,  108;  "A 
Parisian  Romance,"  108;  the  end  foreshadowed,  108;  "  The 
Courier  of  Lyons,"  108;  retardation,  108;  "The  Two  Or- 
phans," 109.  Act  V.,  the  conclusion,  must  be  a  logical 
result,  and  a  definite  ending,  109;  in  tragedy  the  shadow 
of  the  ending  deepens,  no;  "Julius  Caesar,"  "Richard 
III.,"  and  "  Romeo  and  Juliet,"  no;  accident  a  poor  de- 
vice, in  ;  "  Rent  Day,"  in  ;  play  really  ends  when  interest 
ends,  in;  further  illustration,  in. 

Adams's  "  Dictionary  of  the  Drama"  referred  to,  258. 

Adaptation  and  dramatization,  Chapter  VIII. ,  178;  a  neces- 
sity for  the  manager,  178;  Wallack's  error,  179;  A.  M. 
Palmer's  success,  179;  changes  made  in  "The  Banker's 
Daughter"  and  "The  Two  Orphans,"  179;  adapter  often  a 
marplot,  180;  mere  translation  not  adaptation,  180;  when  this 
is  obvious,  181 ;  "  Duprez  and  Son,"  180;  Charles  Reade's 
scorn  of  the  adapter,  181 ;  Daly's  "  Lottery  of  Love,"  181 ; 
mistake  in  adaptation  of  D'Ennery's  "Martyr,"  182;  true 
adaptation  requires  skill,  182;  Robertson's  "Caste"  and 
"  School,"  182 ;  Moliere's  "  Tartuffe,"  as  the  "  Non-juror," 
"The  Serious  Family,"  and  "The  Colonel,"  182;  English 
provincialism  in,  182  ;  "  The  Banker's  Daughter,"  adapted  by 
Alberry,  182 ;  the  Palgrave  Simpsons  and  Sydney  Grundys, 
183;  Joseph  Jefferson  and  his  adaptation  of  "  The  Rivals," 
183-188 ;  dramatization,  may  involve  great  skill,  but  is  gen- 
erally patchwork,  188;  best  to  break  into  pot  metal,  188; 
internal  evidences  of  a  novel,  188;  the  plunderer,  188;  diffi- 
culty as  to  popular  novels,  188;  must  be  complete  within 
itself,  189;  "  Camille,"  189;  custom  of  French  authors,  189; 


Index.  265 

examples  of  good  work  in  adaptation,  189;  the  critic  never 

deceived  in  stolen  plays,  190. 
"  Adonis,"  cited  in  illustration,  198. 
"  Adrienne,"  cited  in  illustration,  194. 
^Esthetics;  see  "The  Three  Elements  of  a  Drama,"  Chapter 

II.,  20,  27. 

"  Alabama,"  referred  to,  14. 
Alberry,  James,  referred  to,  182. 
Allusion,  forbidden  in  some  forms,  permitted  in  others,  126, 

196. 
American  Stage,  histories  of  the,  by  Dunlap,  Ireland,  and 

Brown,  260. 

Anecdote  in  the  nature  of  the  dramatic,  1 1. 
Anticipation ;  see  the  Introduction,  76. 
Anti-climax,  a  lesser  interest  following  a  greater,  as  in  rhetoric, 

103. 

"  Antony  and  Cleopatra,"  cited,  122. 
"  Apology  for  poetry,"  by  Sir  Philip  Sidney,  cited,  31. 
Archer,  William,  referred  to,  254. 
Aristotle,  I,  3,  39,  40,  55,  59,  60,  65,  158,  159,  192,  244,  245, 

246. 

"  Art  of  Authorship,"  title  cited,  258. 
Art,  the  elimination  of  the  non-essential ;  to  produce  desired 

effects;  dramatic,  uses  all  other  arts:    18,  38,  52,  53,  56, 

I5o»  243. 

Arteaga,  history  of  opera,  referred  to,  256. 
"  Article  47,"  cited,  38,  101,  125,  132. 
Asides,  a  natural  device,  particularly  in  comedy,  127. 
"  As  You  Like  It,"  cited,  78,  152,  172,  181. 
"  Athalie,"  cited,  194. 
Audience,  part  author  of  a  play,  etc.,  3,  18,  28,  58,  59,  77,  83, 

84,85,  87,  117,  137,  152,  154,  173- 
Author,  advice  to,  Chapter  XI.,  224;  see  also  12,  14,  28,  70, 

72,  74,  77,  81,  86,  114,  115,  116,  118,  130,  131,  132,  134, 

1 66,  170,  191;  fallacy  that  the  author  should  be  an  actor, 


266  Index. 

Ballet,  39,  200. 

Banim,  "  Damon  and  Pythias,"  104,  138. 

"  Banker's  Daughter,  The,"  cited,  14,  117,  179,  182. 

Barrett,  Wilson,  play  cited,  139. 

Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  play  cited,  189. 

Becq  de  la  Fouquiere,  book  on  stage  management,  256. 

Beginning  of  play  and  of  action,  3,  88,  232. 

Bellinghausen,  M.  von,  "  Ingomar,"  172. 

Belot,  plays  by,  cited,  23,  38,  101,  125,  132. 

Benedix,  his  book  against  Shakspere,  218. 

Bible,  the,  like  the  drama,  depicts  vice,  29. 

Boaden,  referred  to,  254. 

Boildieu,  referred  to,  259. 

Books  on  the  drama,  Chapter  XII.,  243. 

Booth,  Edwin,  referred  to,  173. 

Boucicault,  45,  167,  189,  260. 

Bourgeoise,  play  by,  cited,  208. 

"  Bridal,  The,"  referred  to,  189. 

Brougham,  a  saying  by,  73,  184. 

Buchanan,  Robert,  play  cited,  172. 

Buckstone,  referred  to,  189. 

Bulwer,  plays  by,  cited,  37,  96,  104,  115,  127,  172,  205. 

Bunn,  Alfred,  a  bit  of  stage  management,  120. 

Burlesque,  196. 

Business;  see  Chapter  V.,  112,  131. 

"  Cabale  und  Liebe,"  cited,  n. 

Cailhava,  "  De  1'Art  de  la  Comedie,"  referred  to,  259. 

"Camille,"  cited,  23,  61,  75,  102,  155,  163,  189. 

Campbell,  Bartley,  referred  to,  14,  97. 

Campbell,  Thomas,  referred  to,  254. 

"Caste,"  cited,  82,  101,  155,  168,  174,  182. 

Catastrophe,  Chapter  IV.,  109. 

Cause  and  effect,  pervades  the  drama,  6. 

"  Celebrated  Case,  A,"  61,  85,  87,  115,  153,  189. 

Cham  fort,  his  dictionary  referred  to,  245. 


Index.  267 

Character,  Chapter  VI.,  149;  a  prevailing  trait  necessary, 
149;  old  descriptiveness  in  names,  149;  Massinger's  "  New 
Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts,"  149;  lines  of  business,  150;  what 
a  man's  character  is,  150;  must  be  consistent,  etc.,  150; 
dramatic  unity  of,  151;  all  dramatic  principles  apply  to,  151; 
morality  in  dramatic  character,  151 ;  may  be  created  in  few 
strokes,  151 ;  Adam  in  "As  You  Like  It,"  cited,  151 ;  must 
be  revealed  very  soon,  152 ;  must  not  be  merely  described,  but 
what  others  say  is  helpful,  152;  Shakspere's  methods,  152; 
how  impressed,  152;  probability,  152;  motive,  153;  as  con- 
tributed to  by  scenery,  153;  dress,  153;  Sir  Pertinent  Mc- 
Sycophant,  154;  plays  of  character,  154;  often  left  to  actor, 
154;  few  characters  needed  for  use  in  action,  154;  a  char- 
acter created  for  a  special  scene,  155;  incidental  figures, 
155;  "  The  Two  Orphans,"  cited,  156;  supers,  156;  econ- 
omy in,  157;  not  two  for  one,  157;  double  characters,  as  in 
"  Hamlet,"  "  Macbeth,"  "  Romeo  and  Juliet,"  157;  Aris- 
totle's mixed  good  and  evil  in,  158;  must  entertain,  158; 
"Othello,"  cited,  158;  conventionalism  of  reuniting  at  the 
end,  159;  "  Fernande,"  cited,  159;  Aristotle's  rules  of  char- 
acter, 159;  vice  as  depicted  in,  159;  must  do  what  is  ex- 
pected of  them,  160;  character  must  soon  appear,  160; 
metaphysics  not  needed  in  devising  characters,  161 ;  see  also 
Chapters  IV.  and  V. ;  entrance  and  exit,  78 ;  certain  tricks 
of,  161 ;  should  never  be  made  on  a  pretext  not  verified, 
162;  preparation  of  character  for,  162;  contrast  an  element 
not  absolutely  and  always  necessary,  163 ;  stage  humor  as  it 
differs  from  literary,  163 ;  conventional  types  sometimes 
unavoidable,  164;  the  comedy  of  character,  164;  falsities  in 
one-part  comedies,  164;  melodramatic,  164,  250. 

Children  as  figures  in  the  drama,  164. 

Gibber,  Colly,  commended  for  reading,  254. 

"  Cid,  The,"  referred  to,  32. 

Cities,  the  drama  a  requirement  of  life  in,  1 6. 

Claretie,  Jules,  his  criticisms  referred  to,  255. 

Clash,  the,  the  kindling  point  of  every  drama,  80,  90,  94,  95. 


268  Index. 

Clearness,  a  matter-of-course  requirement,  83,  84,  1 66. 

Climax,  8,  71,  72,  95,  101,  102,  103,  104,  105. 

Collins,  Wilkie,  his  process  in  constructing  a  plot,  230;  "  The 
New  Magdalen,"  23. 

Comedy,  and  comedy  interest,  16,  17,  29,  30,  120,  164,  194. 

Common  sense,  the  basis  of  play- writing,  230. 

Comparison,  a  rhetorical  device  not  permitted  by  Corneille,  126. 

Confidence,  to  be  gained  in  the  beginning,  83. 

Conflict,  the  soul  of  the  drama,  5. 

Congruity,  an  element  of  unity,  57- 

Consistency ;  see  Unity  and  Character. 

Contrast,  29,  123,  163,  167. 

Conventionalism,  43,  45,  53,  54,  93,  159,  164,  202. 

Cook,  Button,  his  books  referred  to,  259. 

Corneille,  and  the  rules  of  the  classic  school,  32,  41,  60,  61, 
71,  126,  246. 

"Corsican  Brothers,  The,"  cited,  104. 

Coup-de-The'dtre,  84. 

"Courier  of  Lyons,  The,"  Moreau,  Siraudin,  and  Delacour, 
cited,  87,  95,  101,  108,  168,  174,  175. 

Courtney,  John,  "  Damon  and  Pythias,"  104. 

Coyne,  Sterling,  referred  to,  190. 

"  Critic,  The,"  cited,  97. 

Criticism,  Chapter  X.,  212;  should  be  mainly  by  way  of  en- 
couragement, 212;  should  combat  real  evils  only,  212; 
should  reproduce  public  impressions,  213;  should  be  sin- 
cere, 213;  Charles  Lamb's  criticism  of  Mrs.  Jordan's  Viola, 
213;  should  not  disdain  sentiment,  214;  essential  to  public 
morals  and  taste;  to  managers  as  well,  215;  Winter,  Haz- 
litt,  Lamb,  Clement  Scott,  Le  Maitre,  and  Sarcey,  215 ;  dif- 
ficulties of,  216;  should  sustain  adverse  criticism  by  proof, 
217;  should  treat  each  play  after  its  kind,  217;  should  heed 
honest  criticism,  217;  hypercriticism,  218;  Benedix's  book 
against  Shakspere,  218;  unimportant  plays  often  require 
criticism,  218;  value  of  rural  criticism,  219;  not  necessary 
to  criticise  everything,  223;  mere  knowledge  of  local  facts 


Index.  269 

and  dates  about  plays  not  criticism,  59,  173,  190,  191,  222; 

see  also  Chapter  XII. 
"  Crockett,  Davy,"  referred  to,  14. 
r(  Curiosities  of  the  American  Stage,"  by  Hutton,  197. 
Curiosity,  an  element,  84,  85,  94,  98,  in,  etc. 
"  Cymbeline,"  cited,  27. 

Daly,  Augustin,  plays  by,  cited,  83,  104,  181. 

"  Damon  and  Pythias,"  cited,  104,  138. 

"  Danicheffs,  The,"  95,  101,  174. 

"  Daniel  Rochat,"  75,  82,  95,  102,  106,  125,  155. 

"  Danites,  The,"  referred  to,  14. 

D'Aubignac,  Abb£  (Hedelin),  an  authority  on  dramatic  law 
of  the  period  of  Corneille,  51,  245. 

'.'  Daughter  of  Roland,"  cited,  116. 

Delay,  an  element  of  the  action,  100,  122. 

"  Demetrius,"  referred  to,  57. 

"  Denise,"  an  impracticable  theme,  21. 

D'Ennery,  a  master  of  construction,  play  by  him,  cited,  22,  61, 
76,  78,  84,  89,  109,  115,  156,  179,  180,  182,  189,  193. 

Denouement,  105,  and  Chapter  IV. 

Description ;  see  Recital. 

Development,  Chapter  IV.,  65,  72,  94. 

Dialogue,  its  requirements  and  uses,  118,  121,  122,  123,  124, 
126,  1 60. 

Dickens,  Charles,  why  he  was  not  successful  in  the  drama, 
188,  237. 

Diderot,  244 ;  his  "  De  la  Poesie  Dramatique,"  246 ;  his  process 
in  building  up  his  play  "  Le  Pere  de  Famille,"  251,  259. 

"  Diplomacy,"  referred  to,  99. 

Dixey,  H.  E.,  in  a  representative  " farce  comedy,"  198. 

Drama,  definition  of,  Chapter  I.,  i;  what  is  dramatic,  2;  a 
reflex  of  life,  2 ;  modern  themes  best,  2,  4 ;  the  idea  must 
be  capable  of  form,  2  ;  action  must  be  complete,  2 ;  logical, 
2 ;  perfection  the  aim,  2 ;  must  be  organic,  2 ;  and  possess 
unity,  2 ;  invite  sympathetic  attention  and  maintain  interest 


270  Index. 

to  the  end,  2;  its  heart,  emotion,  3,  5;  has  limitations,  3; 
a  beginning,  as  in  "  Romeo  and  Juliet,"  3;  to  be  acted  in 
given  time,  6;  cause  and  effect,  6;  proportionate  parts,  6; 
to  progress  by  action,  6,  12;  probability,  7;  the  merely 
theatric,  8 ;  intensity  not  a  general  law,  9 ;  the  anecdote  is 
a  drama,  u;  farce  comedies,  12;  the  germ,  u;  not  com- 
plete till  acted,  8 ;  like  a  case  at  law,  9 ;  suspense,  9 ;  pro- 
gression, 9;  true  drama  bounded  on  all  sides  by  fact,  13; 
the  historical,  13;  illusion,  13;  dramatizations,  13;  the 
theme,  7,  13;  general  and  particular,  7;  an  object  required, 
7;  native  subjects,  12;  the  rogue  writes  foreign  plays,  13; 
why  the  French  author  is  strong,  13 ;  but  drama  universal, 
14;  Shakspere,  14;  other  requirements  to  be  noted  herein- 
after, 1 6. 

Drama,  the  tftree  elements  of  a,  Chapter  II.,  20 ;  they  determine 
the  availability  of  the  theme,  20;  the  ethical,  the  aesthetic, 
the  technical,  20.  I.  The  ethical,  20;  the  object  of  a  drama 
must  accord  with  popular  moral  views,  20 ;  object  unavoid- 
able, 21 ;  bad  object  may  destroy  dramatic  quality,  21 ;  Du- 
mas's  "Denise,"  21 ;  D'Ennery's  "  Martyr,"  22 ;  vice  as  de- 
picted on  the  stage,  22 ;  distinctions,  23 ;  "Forget-me-Not," 
"  Camille,"  "  Frou  Frou,"  "  New  Magdalen,"  23;  "  Har- 
vest," 25,  77;  "  Fazio,"  "Measure  for  Measure,"  27; 
"Cymbeline,"  27;  "  LaTosca,"  27;  "  Faust,"  27;  "  Mouse- 
trap," 26;  if  premises  not  accepted  must  be  proved,  23; 
moral  prejudice  of  the  day  may  be  wrong,  27;  technique 
cannot  establish  moral  law,  27;  principles  change,  27; 
Rome's  Coliseum,  27;  each  age  sets  up  its  standards,  28; 
illusion  depends  on  moral  agreement  of  audience  with  the 
play,  28 ;  to  excite  discussion  fundamentally  wrong,  28.  II. 
The  aesthetic,  29 ;  the  term  includes  the  obvious  law  that  a 
play  must  entertain,  30 ;  what  Goethe  says,  30 ;  taste  offended 
by  bad  morals  and  bad  technique,  30 ;  pleasure  does  not  de- 
pend on  laughter  only,  30 ;  bad  taste  in  play,  cited,  32 ;  bad 
theory  that  the  public  must  take  care  of  itself,  31 ;  Dryden's 
failure  in  theory  as  to  comedy,  31 ;  murderer  in  love  with 


Index.  271 

his  victim's  daughter,  cited,  31;  Gwynne,  33;  plays  on 
such  themes  are  not  plays,  35 ;  trying  to  make  a  silk  purse 
out  of  a  sow's  ear,  35  ;  villainy  rightly  used  need  not  offend 
taste,  35 ;  even  the  villain  must  entertain,  35 ;  bad  taste 
illustrated  by  examples  from  various  plays,  36-38;  good 
acting  can  never  redeem  bad  taste,  38;  terror,  pity,  etc.,  in 
tragedy  referred  back  to  other  treatises,  39 ;  the  physically 
aesthetic  part  may  be  the  charm,  as  in  verse  or  music,  39 ; 
books  of  philosophy  not  needed  to  study  taste,  38 ;  must  be 
inherent,  38 ;  the  drama  not  the  stuff  of  a  moment's  fancy, 
39.  III.  Technical,  the,  39 ;  the  art  of  giving  form,  39 ;  not 
fixed,  like  mathematics,  40 ;  its  general  laws  as  steadfast  as 
nature,  40;  the  structure  of  theatres  influences,  40;  Greek 
drama,  cited,  40 ;  also  whims  of  managers  various,  and  chang- 
ing elements  of,  41 ;  fixed  forms,  41 ;  emancipation  of,  42 ; 
freedom  permissible,  42 ;  accuracy  essential,  43 ;  the  theme 
first,  43;  skill  next,  43;  illustrated  by  painting,  43;  first 
step  is  to  ascertain  values,  43 ;  illusion,  and  not  appreciation 
by  public  of  the  art,  the  dramatist's  concern,  44 ;  each  form 
has  its  laws,  45 ;  instinct  better  than  rule,  45 ;  Goldsmith, 
etc.,  45;  conventionalism,  45;  individuality  in,  46;  Sheri- 
dan's lack  of  skill  in  "  School  for  Scandal,"  46;  but  genius 
works  by  rule,  50;  art  as  genuine  as  nature,  52;  technique 
alone  cannot  write  plays,  but  great  French  writers  become 
technical,  52;  the  earnest  cultivation  of  art  in  France,  52; 
Legouv£'s  belief  in  the  mathematics  of  the  drama,  53 ;  con- 
stant improvement  in,  54;  the  folly  of  conventionalism,  55. 
Drama,  forms  of,  Chapter  IX.,  191;  some  extinct,  191;  new 
constantly  arising,  191 ;  confusion  as  to  critics  and  authors, 
191;  tragedy  defined,  192;  the  inevitable  in,  192;  "Romeo 
and  Juliet,"  "Macbeth,"  "Hamlet,"  "Othello,"  "Richard 
III.,"  192;  Aristotle's  definition,  192;  mirth  unknown  in 
pure  tragedy,  193;  contrast  in,  193;  "  The  Two  Orphans," 
thorough  melodrama  cited  on  this  point,  193 ;  love-interest 
not  necessary  to  tragedy,  "  Macbeth,"  "  Lear,"  "  Julius 
Caesar,"  "Athalie,"  193;  but  Schiller's  "Wallenstein,"  194; 


272  Index. 

"Venice  Preserved,"  "  Adrienne,"  194;  comedy  defined, 
194;  painful  scenes  to  be  avoided,  195;  "  School  for  Scan- 
dal," "  She  Stoops  to  Conquer,"  195  ;  pure  comedy  concerns 
character  and  must  be  natural,  195;  various  forms  of,  196; 
artificial  comedy,  196;  burlesque,  196;  its  characteristics, 
1 96  \farce,  almost  extinct,  196;  John  Maddison  Morton,  196; 
negro  minstrels,  197 ;  farce  comedy,  ill  named,  American  in 
origin,  197;  Hoyt,  197;  illustrated  by  Dixey's  "Adonis," 
198;  "  Bunch  of  Keys,"  198;  Dr.  Mulo  Medicus,  198;  Ger- 
man comedy,  Moser,  199;  spectacular  pieces,  199;  opera, 
200 ;  Scribe  as  librettist,  200 ;  vaudeville,  200 ;  pantomime, 
200;  ballet,  200;  Offenbach,  201;  opera  bouffe  and  opera 
comique,  202  ;  Gilbert  and  Sullivan,  202 ;  "  Pinafore,"  "  Mi- 
kado," "  Ruddygore,"  202;  historical  plays,  204;  difficulties 
of,  204 ;  romantic  melodrama,  205  ;  English  melodrama,  206 ; 
probabilities  in  "  Lagardere,"  207 ;  crime  in  melodrama,  207 ; 
suspense  in,  208 ;  morals  and  taste  in,  209 ;  romanticism 
not  mere  complication,  210;  "Paul  and  Virginia,"  "  Pic- 
ciola,"  cited,  210;  the  preponderance  of  some  one  element 
creates  forms,  210;  forms  for  the  eye,  ear,  imagination,  etc., 
21 1 ;  numberless,  211;  art  would  fare  better  with  a  reper- 
tory theatre,  211. 

Drama,  the  use  of,  16 ;  essential  to  civilization,  particularly  in 
large  cities,  16;  preaches  and  teaches  in  a  dramatic  way,  17; 
entertainment  not  its  only  function,  1 7 ;  falsity  of  the  saying 
"  People  do  not  want  to  think,"  18;  the  boy  understands 
"Richard  III."  without  "thinking,"  18;  drama  involves 
all  arts,  18;  the  absolute  practical  value  of,  19. 

Drama,  books  on  the,  Chapter  XII.,  243;  see  Dramatic  Prin- 
ciple. 

"  Drama,  French's  Standard,"  commended  for  reference,  21, 
189. 

Drama,  how  built  up,  Chapter  XI.,  224;  see  Play. 

Dramatic  principle,  the  literature  of,  Chapter  XII.,  244;  much 
reading  not  required  for  any  art,  244 ;  the  French  excel  in 
the  discussion  of  the  drama,  245  ;  Aristotle's  "  Poetik,"  245  ; 


Index.  273 

He"delin,  Chamfort,  and  Marmontel,  who  with  Corneille, 
Racine,  and  Voltaire  wrote  from  the  classic  standpoint,  246 ; 
Mercier's  essay,  246;  Diderot's  "  De  La  Poesie  Drama- 
tique,"  246;  he  quotes  Aristotle's  analysis,  247;  describes 
his  own  process  in  play-writing,  248 ;  Lessing's  great  polemic 
"Dramaturgic,"  251;  Schlegel's  "Lectures,"  252;  Frey- 
tag's  "Technik,"  252;  other  German  writers,  252;  critical 
essayists  and  biographers  in  England,  Archer,  Hatton,  Gib- 
ber, Boaden,  and  Campbell,  254;  Fitzgerald's  "  Comedy  and 
Dramatic  Effect,"  254;  George  Lewes  on  "  Actors  and  the 
Art  of  Acting,"  254;  the  French  critics,  Grimm,  La  Harpe, 
Jules  Janin  and  Claretie,  255 ;  Zola's  excellent  volumes, 
255 ;  Sardou  and  Dumas  in  prefaces,  255 ;  Victor  Hugo's 
preface  to  "  Cromwell,"  255 ;  histories  and  discussions  of 
the  opera,  256 ;  histories  of  the  stage,  Taine,  Ward,  Klein, 
Royer,  Prolls,  and  Schlegel,  256;  Becq  de  la  Fouquiere's 
book,  "  Art  de  la  Mise  en  Scene,"  256;  its  opposition  to 
realism,  257;  Sanson's  book,  258;  dictionary,  258;  two 
books  of  satire,  by  Germaine  and  Jerome,  259 ;  a  short  list  of 
other  works,  259;  an  article  of  value  by  Boucicault,  260; 
see  also  "  Precis  de  Dramatique,"  by  Viollet-Le-Duc ;  and 
"Why  I  don't  write  Plays,"  Pall  Mall  Budget,  beginning 
with  September,  1892. 

Dramatization;  see  Adaptation  and,  Chapter  VIII.,  178,  188. 

"  Dramaturgic,  Hamburgische,"  Lessing's  great  work,  60,  251. 

Dumas,  plays  by,  cited,  and  other  references  to,  21,  23,  68;  an 
anecdote  of  the  elder,  75,  95,  102,  103,  124,  155,  163,  169, 
1 74 ;  gives  proportion  as  the  main  factor  in  the  drama,  189,  236. 

"  Duprez  and  Son,"  cited,  180. 

"  Elaine,"  cited,  144. 

Emotion,  when  it  is  dramatic,  10. 

Emphasis,  80,  87. 

End,  Chapter  IV.,  65;  5,  57,  109. 

Enthusiasm,  a  quality  of  receptivity  to  be  fostered,  221. 

Entrance,  Chapter  VI.,  149;   161. 


274  Index. 

Episode,  58,  no,  129,  130. 

Ethical,  the,  Chapter  II.,  20. 

"  Eustace  Baudin,"  61,  82,  85,  155,  160,  172. 

Exit,  Chapter  VI.,  149;   135,  161. 

Expectation,  must  exist  always,  93,  98,  175. 

Explanation,  84,  128. 

Exposition,  Chapter  IV.,  65 ;  76. 

Facts,  relative  value  of,  77,  81,  84,  85,  86,  89;  drama  bounded 

by  fact,  13. 
Farce,  its  nature,  196. 

Farce  comedy,  an  American  product,  120,  197. 
"  Fate,''  cited,  97. 
"  Faust,"  cited,  120;  Irving's  stage  management  in  "Faust" 

equivalent  to  authorship,  147. 
"  Fazio,"  Milman,  cited,  27. 
"  Fedora,"  cited,  32. 
Feuillet,  plays  by,  cited,  35,  106,  167. 
Fe"val,  play  by,  cited,  208. 
Fitzgerald,   176;    his  "Principles  of  Comedy  and   Dramatic 

Effect,"  etc.,  254. 
Focus,  determines  the  unity,  so  that  the  focus  of  the  play  not 

the  focus  of  the  novel,  81,  126. 
"  Forget-Me-Not,"  cited,  23. 

Freedom,  with  just  technique ;  see  preface  and  42,  43,  46. 
French,  the,  as  a  nation  skilled  in  technique,  and  why,  15,  52, 

244. 
Freytag,  his  "  Technik  des  Dramas  "  commended,  244,  252, 

253. 
"  Frou  Frou,"  cited,  23,  27. 

Gautier,  referred  to  as  a  critic,  255. 
Geoffrey,  French  critic,  255. 
Germ  of  a  play,  7,  10,  20,  227. 

Germaine,  Auguste,  "  Recettes  de  Cuisine  The"atrale,"  a  satire 
on  the  effete,  259. 


Index.  2*]  5 

Gilbert  and  Sullivan,  creators  of  a  new  form,  13,  202,  236. 

Gillette,  "  Held  by  the  Enemy,"  14. 

"  Gisippus,"  cited,  98. 

Goethe,  referred  to,  and  plays  cited,  27,  30,  32,  236;  consult 

also  Eckermann's  "  Gesprache  "  and  "  Wilhem  Meister." 
Goldsmith,  an  artist  by  instinct,  45 ;  plays  cited,  190,  195. 
Greek  drama,  40. 
Griffin,  Gerald,  "  Gisippus,"  98. 
Groups,  use  of,  128. 
Grundy,  Sydney,  183. 

Hale"vy,  "  Frou  Frou,"  23,  27,  and  associated  with  Offenbach, 

2OI. 

Hamilton,  Henry,  author  of  "  Harvest,"  25. 

"  Hamlet,"  cited,  35,  82,  127,  140. 

"  Harvest,"  cited,  25,  35,  37,  157,  192. 

Harvey,  Frank,  his  characteristic  English  melodramas,  206. 

Hatton,  Joseph,  referred  to,  254. 

"  Hazel  Kirke,"  its  frequent  revision  after  production,  229. 

Hazlitt,  William,  his  dramatic  criticisms,  214,  254. 

"  Heart's-ease,"  cited,  23. 

He"delin ;  see  D'Aubignac,  244. 

Hegel,  and  other  writers  on  the  aesthetic,  on  the  drama,  252. 

"  Held  by  the  Enemy,"  referred  to,  14. 

Henderson,  W.  J.,  "  The  Story  of  the  Opera,"  256. 

"  Henrietta,  The,"  cited,  195. 

Historical,  the,  limitations  of  its  use,  13,  129,  188,  204. 

"  Honeymoon,  The,"  cited,  51,  118,  165,  174,  206. 

Horace,  his  "  Ars  Poetica"  referred  to,  259. 

Howard,  Bronson,   referred  to,  and  plays  cited,  14,  39,  117, 

141,  179,  182,  195,  236. 

Hoyt,  Charles,  the  chief  of  American  farce-makers,  197. 
Hugo,  Victor,  plays  by,  cited,  and  his  fight  against  the  classic, 

32,  41,  60,  206,  255. 
Humor,  its  dramatic  uses,  157,  163,  164. 
"  Hunchback,  The,"  cited,  84. 


276  Index. 

Hunt,  Leigh,  his  essays  referred  to,  254. 

Hutton,    Lawrence,   "  Curiosities   of    the  American   Stage," 

197. 
Hutton's  "Plays  and  Players,"  259. 

Illusion,  the  aim  of  the  drama,  66,  68,  142,  169. 

Imagination,  the,  of  the  spectator  to  be  invoked,  66,  69. 

Impressions,  the  test  of  a  play,  20,  88. 

Incidents,  should  not  be  too  few  or  too  many,  87. 

Individuality,  46. 

"  Infatuation,"  cited,  172. 

"  Ingomar,"  cited,  172. 

Instinct,  dramatic,  45. 

Intelligibility,  1 66. 

Intensity,  the  tendency,  but  not  the  sole  requirement  of  the 

drama,  9. 

Interest,  to  exist  throughout,  71,  85,  98,  99,  in. 
Introduction,  Chapter  IV.,  65,  76-94. 
Irving,  Henry,  some  of  his  theory  and  practice,  120,  146,  147, 

173,  190. 

"  Jane  Eyre,"  cited,  91. 

Janin,  Jules,  his  collected  criticisms,  255. 

Jefferson,  Joseph,  his  remarkable  adaptation  of  "  The  Rivals," 

183. 

Jerome,  his  "  Stage  Land,"  a  satire  on  the  effete,  259. 

Jerrold,  Douglas,  play  by,  cited,  in. 

"Jim  the  Penman,"  cited,  99,  100,  176. 

Jones,  Henry  Arthur,  plays  by,  cited,  87,  139,  236. 

Jonson,  Ben,  inclined  to  observe  the  unities,  60. 

"Julius  Caesar,"  cited,  90,  no,  130,  194. 

Klein's  "  History  of  the  Drama,"  256. 

Knowles,  Sheridan,  plays  by,  cited,  84,  87,  189,  205. 

Kotzebue,  his  "  Stranger,"  cited,  23. 

"  Kreutzer  Sonata,  The,"  why  it  offends,  30. 


Index.  277 

"  Lady  of  Lyons,  The,"  cited,  37,  96,  104,  172,  205. 

"  Lagardere,"  or  "  The  Duke's  Motto,"  cited  for  its  roman- 
ticism, 207. 

La  Harpe,  referred  to,  215. 

Lamb,  Charles,  a  charming  bit  of  criticism  by,  213,  254. 

Language,  166. 

"  La  Tosca,"  the  question  involved  in,  27. 

"  Lear,"  love-interest  lacking  in  it,  and  not  essential,  193. 

"  Led  Astray,"  referred  to,  167. 

Legouve",  his  statement  as  to  the  mathematics  of  the  drama, 
53;  "Adrienne,"  194. 

Le  Maitre,  a  master  in  criticism,  215. 

Length  of  a  play,  6. 

Length  of  a  scene  or  act,  71,  113,  118. 

Lessing,  plays  by,  cited,  and  recognition  made  of  service  to  the 
drama,  36,  42,  60,  158,  236,  244,  251. 

Lewes,  George,  " Actors  and  the  Art  of  Acting,"  254. 

Limitation,  I,  3,  6,  31,  32,  42. 

Literature  of  Dramatic  Principle,  Chapter  XII.,  243. 

"  Lord  Harry,  The,"  its  excessive  scenery,  139. 

"  Lottery  of  Love,  The,"  cited,  181. 

"  Love  Chase,  The,"  cited,  171,  205. 

Love-interest,  Corneille  thought  it  subordinate,  54  J  the  de- 
mand that  it  exist  in  every  play  is  absurd,  193. 

"  Macbeth,"  cited,  107,  157,  164,  192,  193. 

MacKaye,  Steele,  author  of  "  Hazel  Kirke,"  229. 

Macready,  adaptation  by,  189. 

Magnus,  Julian,  article  by,  commended,  260. 

"  Maid's  Tragedy,"  adapted  from  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  189. 

Management,  178,  236. 

Mansfield,  Richard,  108. 

11  Marble  Heart,"  cited,  82. 

Marmontel,  representing  the  technique  of  the  classic  period,  246. 

"  Martyr,"  cited,  22,  115,  182. 

Masses,  the  use  of,  129. 


278  Index. 

Mas  singer,  149,  151. 

Material,  its  value  and  controlling  influence,  7,  12,  43,  63. 

McEntee,  Jervis,  artist  of  sentiment,  44. 

"  Measure  for  Measure,"  cited,  27,  133. 

Melodrama,  defined,  205,  206. 

Mercier,  "  Essai  sur  le  Drame,"  246. 

Merivale,  "  Forget-Me-Not,"  23. 

"  Metropolis,  The  Great,"  Jessup  and  Teal,  cited  for  its  stage 

management,  258. 
"  Mikado,  The,"  13,  202. 
Miller,  Joaquin,  author  of  "  The  Danites,"  14. 
"  Miss  Multon,"  cited,  23. 
Moliere,  cited,  182,  236. 
Monologue,  127. 

Monotony,  a  dramatic  crime,  169. 
"  Monte  Cristo,"  why  the  prologue  is  required,  91. 
Morality,  in  character;  see  Chapter  II.,  passim. 
Morton,  J.  Maddison,  the  master  of  farce,  196. 
Moser,  Gustave,  his  methods  referred  to,  199. 
Motives,  84,  171,  176;  see  also  Proportion  and  Character. 
"  Mousetrap,  The,"  an  example  of  falsity,  26,  35. 
"  My  Partner,"  referred  to,  14. 

"  Nathan  the  Wise,"  cited,  36. 

Naturalism,  146. 

Negro  minstrelsy,  197. 

"  New  Way  to  Pay  Old  Debts,  A,"  cited,  149. 

Novels,  13,  188. 

Object,  inevitable  in  the  drama,  7»  20,  27* 
"  CEdipus,"  a  theme  peculiar  to  its  period,  32. 
Offenbach,  his  creation  of  a  new  form,  201. 
"  Old  Homestead,  The,"  cited,  119,  130. 
"  Old  Love  and  the  New,  The,"  cited,  117. 
'*  Olivia,"  as  an  adaptation,  190. 
Opera,  200;  opera-bouffe,  202. 


Index.  279 

Organic,  the ;  see  specially  Chapters  I.  and  III. 

Originality,  a  misused  term,  12. 

"  Othello,"  cited,  36,  81,  88,  158,  192. 

Otway,  author  of  "  Venice  Preserved"  and  "  The  Orphan,"  194. 

Over-elaboration,  139,  145. 

Padding,  a  literary  vice,  insufferable  in  the  drama,  131. 

Painting,  points  of  identity  in  technique,  89,  165. 

Palmer,  A.  M.,  the  skillful  and  successful  adaptations  made 
under  his  direction,  1 17,  178,  182  ;  see  also  plays  produced  by : 
"  The  Two  Orphans,"  "A  Celebrated  Case,"  "  The  Banker's 
Daughter,"  "The  Danicheffs,"  "Led  Astray,"  "Daniel 
Rochat,"  "  A  Parisian  Romance,"  etc. 

Pantomime,  as  a  form,  200;  as  incidental  to  the  action  and 
expression,  120,  126,  129. 

"  Parisian  Romance,  A,"  cited,  108. 

"  Pattes  de  Mouche  " ;  see  "  A  Scrap  of  Paper,"  1 1,  83. 

Perspicuity,  165. 

"  Pinafore,"  referred  to,  202. 

Planche",  referred  to,  196. 

Play,  the  building  up  of  a,  Chapter  XI.,  224;  principle,  and 
not  a  model,  should  be  the  guide,  224 ;  mere  dry  rule  of  no 
value,  224 ;  common  sense  at  the  bottom  of  all  playwriting, 
225 ;  the  art  may  be  taught,  225 ;  writing  plays  a  proper 
exercise  for  any  literary  student,  226 ;  the  significance  of  a 
successful  play,  226 ;  impossible  to  hide  weakness  in  a  play, 
226;  analysis  of  plays  commended,  226;  the  author,  227; 
mental  processes,  227;  the  germ,  227;  Schiller's  "  Cabale 
und  Liebe,"  227;  gestation  required,  228;  mastery  of  the 
theme  of  first  importance,  228;  selection  and  rejection  of 
material,  228;  weighing  effects,  228;  "  Hazel  Kir ke,"  cited, 
229 ;  constructed,  not  written,  229 ;  Wilkie  Collins's  analysis 
of  his  mental  process  with  his  novel "  The  Woman  in  White," 
230 ;  Ibsen's  experience,  234 ;  how  characters  arise  and  are 
developed,  235 ;  general  plan  first,  235 ;  fallacy  that  an 
author  should  be  an  actor,  235 ;  advice  to  author  as  to  man- 


280  Index. 

ager,  236 ;  why  some  men  of  genius  fail  as  dramatists,  237 ; 
fortunate  that  Dickens  and  Tennyson  failed,  237 ;  the  only 
career  worth  having  is  in  original  work,  237 ;  the  processes 
of  Schiller,  Coleman,  Garrick,  and  Macready,  238 ;  trial  per- 
formances not  useful  for  a  play  of  any  value,  239 ;  folly  of 
beseiging  managers  with  unsuitable  plays,  239 ;  the  author 
the  best  judge  of  his  own  work,  240 ;  folly  of  reading  it  to 
others  promiscuously,  240 ;  time  required  to  write  a  play, 
240;  rarity  of  good  or  timely  plays,  241 ;  fallacy  that  a  play 
cannot  be  judged  in  the  reading,  241 ;  failures  sometimes 
accidental,  241 ;  need  to  examine  all  criticisms,  242. 

Plot,  Chapter  IV.,  65,  72-76,  102,  228,  247,  250. 

Poetic  justice ;  see  Satisfaction,  and  2,  20,  93. 

Pougin's  Encyclopaedia,  258. 

Premises,  must  be  accepted,  23,  28  ;  for  with  premise,  argument, 
conclusion,  each  must  be  convincing  and  logical,  65. 

Preparation,  the  cause  before  the  effect,  of  the  utmost  impor- 
tance, 83,  84,  98,  no,  171,  175. 

Present,  the,  is  the  essence  of  the  drama,  81,  138. 

Principle,  the  literature  of  dramatic,  Chapter  XII.,  243. 

Principles,  the  inexorable  nature  of,  15,  54. 

Principles,  a  summary  of  certain  laws  in  art,  Chapter  VII.,  165  ; 
drama  contains  all  the  elements  of  art,  165 ;  compared  with 
elements  of  painting,  165  ;  perspicuity,  165 ;  intelligibility, 
clearness,  166;  language  to  be  dramatic,  166;  language  to 
fit  character,  166;  sincerity  and  simplicity,  167;  contrast, 
167;  proportion,  168;  Dumas  fils  places  it  first,  169;  va- 
riety, 169;  monotony,  169;  variety  is  not  discontinuity,  169; 
scenes  not  to  be  repeated,  169;  illusion,  the  many  dangers 
to,  169;  author,  170;  probability,  171;  what  is  probable  in 
one  kind  of  play  not  in  another,  171 ;  illusion,  173 ;  prepara- 
tion, 174,  175;  suspense,  176;  "Jim  the  Penman,"  176; 
more  than  mere  curiosity,  176,  227* 

Probability,  58,  171,  172. 

Problem,  5,  73,  76,  92. 

Progression,  I,  12,  121. 


Index.  281 

Prolls,  "  Geschichte  des  Neueren  Dramas,"  256. 

Prologue,  87,  91,  115. 

Promise,  80. 

Proportion,  6,  32,  51,  57,  61,  88,  89,  96,  108,   in,  116,   123, 

124,  130,  156,  164,  168;   Dumas  fils  declares  it  to  be  the 

most  important  element,  169. 
Purpose,  essential  in  the  drama,  HI. 

Racine,  referred  to  and  cited,  41,  60,  61,  126,  194,  246. 
Reade,  Charles,  his  scorn  of  the  adapter,  181 ;  his  search  for 

subjects,  227. 
Realism,  as  the  outward  form,  the  incorporation,  will  always 

exist,  140,  146. 
Recital,  82,  92,  in  ;  what  to  be  acted  and  what  told,  114,  115, 

116,  138. 

"  Rent  Day,  The,"  cited,  HI. 
Retardation,  120,  122. 

"  Richard  III.,"  cited,  17,  18,  35,  90,  no,  192,  193. 
"  Richelieu,"  cited,  115,  127. 
"  Rivals,  The,"  Jefferson's  adaptation  of,  183. 
"  Robbers,  The,"  cited,  171. 

Robertson,  T.  S.,  plays  by,  cited,  82,  101,  155,  168,  174,  182. 
Roescher,  metaphysical  writer  on  the  drama,  253. 
Romantic,  the,  205,  210. 
"  Romeo  and  Juliet,"  cited,  3,  54,  88,  no,  145,  151,  157,  192, 

194. 

Roumien,  "  L'Art  Dramatique,"  259. 
Royer,  "  Histoire  Universelle  du  Theatre,"  256. 
"  Ruddy  gore,"  202. 
"  Ruy  Bias,"  referred  to,  206. 
Ryer,  George  W. ;  see  "  The  Old  Homestead,"  119. 

Salvini,  realism  in  "  Samson,"  140. 
Sanson,  book  on  stage  management,  258. 
Sarcey,  Francescue,  his  service  to  the  drama  in  France,  215, 
255. 


282  Index. 

Sardou,  referred  to  and  cited,  u,  32,  54,  63,  75,  82,  83,  86, 
92,  95»  99,  102,  103,  106,  124,  125,  131,  135,  136,  155, 
236,  255. 

Satisfaction,  2,  20,  93 ;  see  Esthetics,  Character,  End  of  Play, 
etc. 

Scenes,  Chapter  V.,  112;  of  two  kinds,  the  picture  and  the 
action,  112;  each  to  be  significant,  112;  not  a  scene  unless 
it  accomplishes  something  toward  the  movement,  113; 
organic  with  the  play,  113;  length  of  does  not  determine  its 
value,  113;  must  be  in  the  right  sequence,  113;  constructed, 
not  written,  113;  important  for  detail,  114;  progressive  and 
retroactive,  114;  what  to  be  acted,  what  told,  114;  much  to 
be  left  to  actor,  scenery,  and  public  intelligence,  115;  ac- 
tion more  impressive  than  speech,  115  ;  some  things  must  be 
proved  and  hammered  at  possibly  in  words,  115;  illustrated  by 
"  A  Celebrated  Case,"  115  ;  prologue,  a  bad  one  to  "  Mar- 
tyr," 115;  "  Richelieu,"  115;  "The  Daughter  of  Roland," 
116;  interest,  116;  character  may  require  special  develop- 
ment in,  116;  proportion,  116;  effects,  116;  to  symbolize 
wherever  possible,  117 ;  value  of  depends  on  relation  to  other 
scenes,  117;  "The  Banker's  Daughter,"  117;  must  have 
purpose,  118;  overwrought  conversation  in,  evil,  118;  con- 
versation easily  written,  118;  author  should  map  out  before 
writing,  118  ;  has  its  beginning,  middle,  and  end,  119 ;  "  The 
Old  Homestead,"  119;  farce  comedies,  120;  tableaus,  120; 
groups,  120;  not  to  open  with  tableaus,  120;  Bunn  and 
Stanfield's  conflict,  120;  scenery,  120;  stage  not  to  be  va- 
cant, qualified,  120;  "  Faust,"  its  scene  on  the  Brocken,  120; 
pantomime  is  drama,  120;  French  definition  of  the  acted 
scene,  121 ;  its  special  uses  as  to  actor,  etc.,  12 1 ;  character  in, 
121 ;  "A  Scrap  of  Paper,"  121 ;  dialogue  the  greater  part  of  a 
play,  121 ;  its  requirements,  121 ;  "  Antony  and  Cleopatra," 
122;  determined  by  character  and  relations,  122;  authors 
should  not  speak  in,  123;  may  be  used  for  local  color,  etc., 
124;  uses  of  conversational  scenes  illustrated,  125;  matters 
outside  of  action  not  to  be  alluded  to  in  a  play  of  illusion,  126 ; 


Index.  283 

Racine  and  Corneille  even  forbade  rhetorical  comparison, 
126;  asides,  127;  necessary  to  mechanism,  127;  monologue 
and  soliloquy,  127;  reveal  emotion  not  to  be  otherwise  so 
fully  expressed,  127;  peculiar  also  to  artificial  comedy,  127; 
when  and  where  proper,  128;  expression  to  be  had  at  any 
cost,  128 ;  groups  peculiar  to  modern  drama,  128 ;  a  matter  of 
stage  management,  129;  necessary  to  historical  drama,  129; 
episodes,  129;  an  interruption  to  the  action,  130;  the  true 
and  false,  130;  "Julius  Caesar,"  130;  "The  Old  Home- 
stead," 130;  uses  of,  130;  detrimental  often  even  if  beauti- 
ful in  self,  130;  business,  part  of  authorship  to  indicate, 
131 ;  actor  entitled  to  freedom  in  methods,  131 ;  Sardou, 
131 ;  stage-manager,  his  functions  and  methods,  132;  a  sup- 
plemental author,  133 ;  scene  plots,  property  plots,  prompt- 
book, etc.,  133;  significance  of  certain  stage  positions  and 
movements,  134;  Sardou's  stage  direction  in  "A  Scrap  of 
Paper,"  135 ;  desired  effects  the  sum  of  the  art,  135 ;  actors' 
movements  on  the  stage,  135 ;  variety,  135 ;  various  ways  of 
expression,  137;  rising,  crossing,  136;  effects  not  to  be  too 
sudden,  136 ;  audience  to  anticipate  actors'  movements,  136 ; 
the  attention  to  be  directed,  136;  preparation,  136;  scenes 
not  to  be  repeated,  137;  monotony,  137;  an  idea,  however, 
may  be  played  on  repeatedly  for  distinctness,  137;  effects 
imperative,  137;  some  scenes  to  be  minute,  others  sketched, 
137;  all  in  a  scene  to  be  occupied  or  related  to  it,  get  some- 
thing out  of  it,  be  helpful,  etc.,  138;  number  of  persons  in, 
dependent  on  object,  138;  and  that  number  affects  the 
handling,  138;  scenery  should  be  organic  with  the  play, 
139;  should  not  be  imperfect,  139;  imperfection  defined  and 
illustrated,  139;  "  The  Lord  Harry,"  with  six  hundred  tons 
of,  139 ;  absurdities  of  too  much,  140 ;  and  of  two  frequent 
changes,  140 ;  French  custom,  141 ;  front  scenes,  141 ; 
scenic  effect,  140;  Salvini's  "Samson,"  140;  a  theory  ol 
Bronson  Howard's,  141 ;  possible  and  impossible,  141 ;  tab- 
leaus,  141 ;  illusion  discussed  as  to  change  of  scenery,  142; 
boxed  interiors,  142;  absurdities  of  modern  restrictions, 


284  Index. 

143 ;  stage  management,  its  problems,  143 ;  scenery  neces- 
sarily subordinate  to  action,  144;  "Elaine,"  144;  Shak- 
spere's  plays,  with  and  without,  144;  value  of  scenery,  144; 
"  Cymbeline,"  144;  over-elaboration,  instance  of  in  "  Romeo 
and  Juliet,"  145;  realism  and  naturalism,  146;  Henry  liv- 
ing's methods,  and  his  school  of  acting,  146 ;  his  manage- 
ment of  the  scene  on  the  Brocken  in  "  Faust,"  63,  70,  147. 

Schiller,  referred  to,  plays  by,  cited,  n,  57,  87,  91,  171,  194, 
236. 

Schlegel,  his  "  Lectures  on  Dramatic  Art,"  173,  196,  244, 
252,  256. 

"  School,"  an  adaptation,  182. 

"  School  for  Scandal,"  cited,  36,  46,  53. 

Schure,  Ed.,  book  on  music,  256. 

Scott,  Clement,  his  critical  authority,  215. 

"Scrap  of  Paper,  A,"  cited,  11,  83,  86,  92,  102,  125,  135, 
136,  183. 

Scribe,  Eugene,  194,  200. 

Selby,  Charles,  "  The  Marble  Heart,"  82. 

"  Serious  Family,  The,"  referred  to,  182. 

Shakspere,  3,  14,  16,  17,  18,  27,  36,  41,  42,  60,  63,  65,  73, 
78,  81,  82,  88,  90,  107,  no,  122,  126,  127,  130,  133,  140, 
144,  145,  151,  152,  157,  158,  164,  172,  181,  189,  192,  193, 
194,  205,  213,  217,  218,  226,  236,  254. 

"  Shenandoah,"  a  theory  of  stage  management  in,  141. 

Sheridan,  cited,  36,  45,  46,  53,  97,  183,  195. 

Shiel,  referred  to,  237. 

Sidney,  Sir  Philip,  his  "  Defense  of  Poetry,"  31. 

"  Silver  King,  The,"  cited,  87. 

Simpson,  his  book  on  the  unities,  60. 

Simpson,  Palgrave,  referred  to,  183, 

Situation,  96,  97,  100. 

Soliloquy;  see  Monologue,  127. 

Spectacular,  the,  199. 

Spectator,  the ;  see  Audience. 

11  Sphinx,  The,"  cited,  38. 


Index.  285 

Spielhagen,  his  essays  on  the  novel,  253. 

Stage-manager,  Chapter  V.,  112;   132-136,  143,  170. 

Stanfield,  scenic  painter,  120. 

Stock  companies,  the  value  of,  211. 

Stolen  and  patched-up  plays,  190. 

"  Stranger,  The,"  cited,  23. 

Subject;  see  Chapters  I.  and  II. ;  63. 

Suggestion,  as  distinguished  from  the  detail  in  the  action  and 

in  the  scenery,  137,  141. 
Sulzer's  "  Theorie  der  Kunst,"  252. 
Suspense,  an  element,  II,  34,  93,  94,  99,  122,  176. 
Sympathy,  an  element,  I,  89. 

Tableaus,  limitation  of,  62 ;  there  should  not  be  too  much  move- 
ment,  but  all  to  be  effective  in  every  detail,  without  confusion, 
as  in  "  Faust,"  147. 

Taine,  as  a  critic  of  the  drama  in  history,  256. 

Talfourd,  referred  to,  237. 

"  Tartuffe,"  the  original  of  other  plays,  182. 

Taste ;  see  Esthetics. 

Teal,  his  effective  management  of  a  scene,  258. 

Technical,  the;  see  Drama,  the  Three  Elements  of,  Chapter 
II.,  20,  39,  53. 

Tennyson,  why  he  failed  as  a  writer  of  plays,  237. 

Theatre,  the,  16-19,  211. 

Theatric,  the,  8. 

Theme,  the;  see  Chapters  I.  and  II.,  63. 

Themes,  8,  13,  103,  188. 

Thomas,  Augustus,  author  of  "  Alabama,"  14. 

Thompson,  Denman,  "The  Old  Homestead,"  119,  130. 

Time  in  the  performance  of  play,  6. 

Time,  on  the  stage,  66-69. 

Tobin,  "  The  Honeymoon,"  4. 

Tolstoi,  "  Kreutzer  Sonata,"  cited,  30. 

Tone,  a  quality  in  a  play,  89,  210. 

Tragedy,  192. 


286  Index. 

Translation,  often  confounded  with  adaptation,  180,  181. 
Truth,  the  aim  of  the  drama,  4. 

"Two  Orphans,  The,"  cited,  78,  84,  89,  109,  156,  179, 
183. 

"  Under  the  Gaslight,"  cited,  36,  46,  53. 

Unity,  Chapter  III.,  56;  definition  of,  56;  the  organic  illus- 
trated, 56 ;  proportion,  harmony,  congruity,  numberless  ele- 
ments of,  57;  affected  by  improbabilities,  58;  divided  atten- 
tion, etc.,  58;  the  three  unities  of  the  French,  59;  correct 
within  limits,  60;  some  absurdities  of,  60;  overturned  by 
Lessing,  Hugo,  and  others,  60 ;  unity  of  action  or  of  illusion 
remains,  64 ;  is  a  focus  of  facts  and  interests,  63 ;  triune 
unity  grew  out  of  imperfect  scenery,  63 ;  unity  the  logic  of 
action  and  the  impression  of  the  entirety,  10,  109. 

Variety,  in  incident,  29,  135,  169. 

Vaudeville,  the,  200. 

"  Venice  Preserved,"  referred  to,  194. 

Verse,  39,  41,  42,  167,  205. 

"  Vicar  of  Wakefield,"  as  adapted,  190. 

Vice  in  character,  22,  26,  29,  159,  208. 

Voltaire,  his  views  and  criticisms,  60,  62,  240,  246. 

"  Wages  of  Sin,"  referred  to,  206. 

Wagner,  books  by,  256. 

' '  Wallenstein, "  love-interest  in,  etc.,  194. 

Ward's  "  History  of  the  Stage,"  256. 

"  Werther,"  referred  to,  32. 

"  White  Slave,  The,"  referred  to,  14. 

"  William  Tell,"  early  statement  of  certain  facts  in,  87. 

Wills,  W.  G.,  "Olivia,"  190. 

Winter,  William,  as  a  critic,  215. 

"  Winter's  Tale,"  cited,  164. 

"  Woman  against  Woman,"  cited,  206. 

Writing  plays  ;  see  article  by  W.  T.  Price  in  North  American 


Index.  287 

Review,  December,   1892;    see   also   books   and  essays  by 
Brander  Mathews  and  Clarence  Stedman. 

Young,  Sir  Charles,  play  by,  cited,  99,  176. 

"  Zaire,"  time  in  its  preparation,  240. 

Zola,  his  excellence  as  a  critic,  etc.,  146,  355* 


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